


Falling For a Friend

by KarmaHazel



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - Australia, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-03-25 20:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3824557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarmaHazel/pseuds/KarmaHazel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You made me look like a fool, Patroclus!”<br/>“I know. Shit, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t think you’d care."<br/>"Of course I do! Why the hell would you think otherwise?"</p><p>Patroclus, a high school student, becomes friends with Achilles, the head of the school's track and field team. You know how it goes from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The credits of the movie _Gallipoli_ have just started rolling as the lunch bell rings, and all of us instantly leap out of our seats and grab our books.

“No homework tonight,” calls out Mr Collins, our History teacher, but half of us have already poured out of the classroom.

“That was the most boring movie ever,” my best friend, Briseis, comments as we walk back to our lockers. “And stupid. They all knew they were going to die, but no! Running out of the trenches like fools and yet they’re still surprised when—… Pat, are you listening?”

I almost trip as she reaches out to poke my cheek, jolting me out of my thoughts. “Huh?”

“The movie was—Oh, never mind.” She rolls her eyes and blows at the dark hair that flies into her face. I smile.

“The boys’ track and field team is training this lunch,” I tell her as we stop at my locker. “I was thinking of helping out the nurse again. Someone always gets hurt.”

“You and your medicine,” Briseis scoffs. “ _You,”_ she says, and lowers her voice, “just want to watch Achilles.”

Achilles Katsaros, the head of the track and field team and the most promising athletic student in the school, has stolen my heart. With a smile that shines as bright as his hair in the sunlight,  he’s one of the most talked about boys in the year level; however, many of the girls have found him cold, and he hasn’t dated anyone since he arrived here. He has an incredibly infectious personality and is friends with many of the boys, and added with his seeming lack of interest in the girls, there are more than a few rumours of him being gay. Despite my anger at this shallow assumption, I secretly hope that what the girls dread is true.

“I totally do not,” I complain, but my dark cheeks flush, and Briseis grins.

“I’ll be in the library if you need me,” she says curtly, and blows me a kiss before heading off to her own locker. She enjoys flirting with me, which means that people assume we’re dating, ‘obviously’. It’s annoying, I suppose, but helps. It means nobody says anything about my slight obsession with the track and field team.

I arrive on the school oval with my lunch, and wander over to Helen, a young and quite attractive woman who is studying nursing at the local university and is here for the semester on work experience. She’s sitting on a bench with a first-aid kit at her feet, and smiles as I approach.

“Why, if it isn’t Kingsdale’s brightest biology student,” she greets. “Also, the only person besides myself who cares about the health and safety of the track and field team.”

“Not the only one,” I point out as I sit down next to her. “Look. There’s a group of six girls on the other side of the oval that seem to be staring intently at the team.”

She grins. “Sure, then. But they wouldn’t know what to do if one of them were really hurt.”

“Take his head in their lap and kiss his booboos all better,” I suggest with a smile.

Helen rolls her eyes, and we fall into silence as the team finish their warm-ups and start their laps. Achilles, as always, is at the head of the pack, jogging backwards and throwing motivational taunts at the other boys. His curly hair glows golden in the sunlight, and as laughs at the girls swooning over him and his tanned body, I’m holding back a stupid smile of my own as I watch Achilles in his glory.

Achilles and the team passes us on their lap, and Achilles waves at us.

“Hey, Helen!” he hollers, and Helen waves back.

“I laugh at those girls for watching him during training, but if I was their age I’d probably do the same,” she comments as he runs away. “How old is he? Sixteen?”

“Seventeen, his birthday was just under a month ago.” I finish my sandwich and scrunch up the plastic in my hand, and look over at Helen to find her with her eyebrows raised.

“You know when his birthday is… Why?”

“Everybody was talking about Achilles’ birthday,” I explain, shrugging. “I couldn’t escape it.”

“Huh. Must be annoying having to deal with him, actually. Is he in any of your classes?”

“Kind of, and yeah. Just Food and Hospitality and French, though. I haven’t been partnered with him yet, but he makes such a fuss when we sit down to eat.”

Helen smiles. “Really?”

I grin back. “Yeah! We made cake a few weeks back, and he just about refused to eat it because it had jam in it.”

Helen laughs, and we both fall silent as the whole team runs over to us for a drink break. I grin as I watch Achilles, and he raises an eyebrow at me, as if asking, _who are you, even?._  I get up to put my plastic in the bin just off the oval, and the team has returned to Coach by the time I return.

“I think he knows we were talking about him,” Helen admits.

“I think so, too,” I say, smiling.

The bell rings for the end of lunch twenty minutes later and Achilles is the first to run over to grab his water bottle. He gives me another weird look, and this time I smile at him. The rest of the boys come over a second later, though, and if he was going to ask me something before he probably isn’t going to now. I go back to my locker and grab my books for the next lesson, making my way over the Drama classroom. Briseis joins me on my way and tells me about the latest season of _Two Broke Girls,_ which she started watching about a month ago and has almost caught up with.

Nothing much happens over the next week. Briseis continues to evaluate my life choices, including my crush on Achilles, and I see Achilles in my Food class single on Tuesday and the double on Friday, as well as a few French lessons between. We bake muffins in the Food double, and Achilles complains about having to use blueberries, since he finds them to be ‘horrendous’. I remember telling Helen about Achilles’ fussiness and burst into laughter after he announces this to the class. I’m sent out of the classroom while we eat because I can’t shut up and Achilles gives me another funny look as I walk out of the room. A few of the other students nudge and grin at him, teasing him for being so ridiculous, and he eventually eats the muffins. After class he comes up to me with a look on his face like he’s going to accuse me of something, but instead he just mumbles ‘have a nice weekend’ and storms off. I go over to Briseis’ house after school and tell her about Achilles’ grumpiness, and she laughs.

“He’s definitely noticed you,” she says.

“I suppose,” I admit, and smile. “Maybe not in a good way.”

She returns my smile. “Noticed is noticed, Pat. Whatever you’re doing to piss him off, I’d say continue it.”

I show up to lunchtime training again the next Monday and tell Helen about blueberry incident, and she laughs loudly enough that Achilles turns around and looks at us. My smile fades and I suddenly wonder if he’s genuinely mad at me, but he sticks his tongue out at us before turning back to coach.

“Is that the face he made when he saw the blueberries?” She asks, and I burst into laughter too. Helen grins, and I look up at Achilles to see if he’s looking back. He isn’t, thankfully, and by the time the team start their laps I’ve calmed down. It’s lucky that I have, because as the other boys run around the sharp curve of the oval, Achilles sprints ahead to stop at the medical bench.

“Lovely day, Helen, don’cha think?” he asks with a smile as he takes a swig of the water bottle Helen hands him. I bite my lip and look away, wondering if he’ll say anything to me.

“Certainly,” she replies. “Are you wearing sunscreen?”

“I believe so! Although, maybe I’ll have to get you to rub some on my back. Just to be sure.”

Helen smiles and takes back the water bottle Achilles holds out to her. “Maybe Patroclus can help you with that.”

“Oh?” Achilles asks, and suddenly his dark eyes are on me, his lips curved up into a smile. “Patroclus,” he says smoothly, and I almost shiver. My name sounds beautiful as it rolls off his tongue. “So _that’s_ your name.”

I look up at him, smiling awkwardly, “Yeah. That’s me.”

“Huh,” Achilles replies, and his easy smile widens into a grin. “See you later. _Patroclus.”_ The rest of the team is well ahead of him, now, and he salutes Helen and I before sprinting towards the boys, laughing and then jumping on their backs, knocking them down. The entire team falls over, yelling and pushing at Achilles. Achilles laughs, and I give in and let myself smile at how adorable he is.

When I look back at Helen, she has a smile on her lips. “He doesn’t seem mad from the blueberry incident. He seems rather _interested,_ actually.”

I hold up my hands in a mock surrender. “Honestly, Helen, I have _no_ idea what’s wrong with that boy.”

Helen grins, and shakes her head as she gives up. “Honestly, Patroclus, I don’t think anybody does.”

We fall silent once again as we watch the boys, and I can’t help but smile when Achilles keeps glancing over to where Helen and I are sitting.

The boys continue with their training. I watch them as they do pushups, situps and planks, moving on to practicing with shotput and discus and finishing up with sprints. Throughout the training, boys are sent off to visit Helen and I for a drink and a bite of their lunch. Achilles doesn’t come over for the remainder of the session, but quite a few boys grin and say ‘hey’. Admittedly, most of them are rather attractive, but I’m not really interested in any of them except Achilles. Most of the boys have girlfriends, and the others aren’t really my type. Except him, I suppose. But then again, Achilles is everybody’s type.

The bell rings for the end of lunch without anything dramatic happening, and I make my way back to my locker. The track and field boys forget me as soon as I’ve left the oval, and I’m partly glad about it. I grab my books and push through the groups of other year elevens to reach my English classroom, where Briseis is waiting for me.

 _“So?”_ she demands, her dark eyes lit up with excitement. “What happened?”

I smile and lean against the wall next to her. “What happened with what?”

“With _lunchtime,”_ she explains, leaning in closer. “With _Achilles!”_

I roll my eyes, leaning away from her a bit. “Nothing happened!”

“Apparently Achilles was talking to you.”

“He talks to a lot of people, Bri.”

Briseis shoves me lightly. “C’mon, don’t be a grump! What’d he say?”

“He asked what my name was, and then I told him. And he was all, ‘I’ll see you later, _Patroclus’,”_ I give my best impression of Achilles, and Briseis laughs, “And then he left. And he was giving me flirty eyes for the rest of lunchtime.”

“No!” Bri shrieks, and I grin. “Seriously? That’s great!”

“For Christ’s sake, keep it down,” I mumble, nudging her, but I’m beaming. She rolls her eyes but falls silent, her smile as wide as mine. I wish I could talk to her more about it, but I’m determined to keep my sexuality a secret and gossiping about Achilles while we wait for a teacher is not going to help with that.

The teacher arrives minutes later, unlocking the classroom, and Bri and I make our way to our designated seats. She keeps staring at me from across the classroom, though, and I find myself staring blankly at my copy of _Romeo and Juliet._ I realize that I’ve read the last three pages without absorbing any of the text, and Samantha, the girl sitting next to me, looks over at me.

“You seem disconnected,” she says, smiling politely. “Don’t know what’s bothering you, but go have a drink.”

I smile and mutter a thanks to her before standing up and closing my book. I walk up to the front of my classroom, ignoring Briseis’ raised eyebrows. The teacher smiles and accepts my request so I walk outside of the stuffy classroom, taking a deep breath of the frosty air.

I splash my face with the cool water at the drinking fountain, sighing softly as I lean against the gently humming metal. I duck my head and part my lips to take a sip of the water before raising it again, pressing the back of my hand to my lips and turning around to see none other but Achilles himself standing behind me, waiting for his turn to drink.

“Patroclus,” he says softly, and for a moment I can’t even think. “How are you?”

“Refreshed,” is the first word that comes to mind that wouldn’t embarrass me terribly _._ Achilles raises an eyebrow and gestures to the water fountain, and I step aside and watch his eyes flutter closed and lips open gently as he drinks from the fountain.

He drinks for a while, and I don’t shy from admiring him. When he finishes, swallows, and stands back up, he lets the remaining water droplets run from the corner of his mouth down to his chin.

“How are you?” I suddenly blurt out. “Also, why are you here?”

“Wonderful. I’m actually in History, over there,” he makes a vague hand motion towards the senior school, “and we’re watching some movie on the first world war. I saw you and thought you’d be more interesting to chat to.”

“Rather blunt, huh,” I say, to which he grins.

“Why were you sitting with Helen at lunchtime today?”

“Um, no reason. I sit with her most trainings, actually.”

“Can’t believe I haven’t noticed. Do you normally stare at me in the way that you did today?”

“I wasn’t staring!” I exclaim, and Achilles grins. A nearby teacher looks up at the two of us talking next to the water fountain, and Achilles briefly ducks his head to drink more water. The teacher disregards the both of us, returning to her lesson.

“I was probably staring at you as much as me, so don’t get all flustered. Will you continue to come to training?” Achilles asks once he’s raised his head. “Helen officially finishes at dismissal, so we have no medical staff to attend the after school sessions on Wednesday and Friday. And we could need a little extra help on competition days…”

Briseis was right. Achilles approaching me at lunch did turn out well. “Yeah,” I said, smiling. “That’d be amazing.”

There’s an awkward pause as neither of us speak, so I turn to leave.

“Patroclus,” he calls out, and when I turn back to look at him, his eyes are soft and pleading. “Hey, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone I asked you to come. There’s a lot of girls that like me and I don’t want them hearing that I’m talking to someone, y’know? Just show up and I can talk to you after training… Sometime.”

“Talk?” I ask.

He smiles. “Isn’t that what friends do?”

“Yeah,” I agree, and grin. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

I watch as Achilles’ face lights up, and then he turns and saunters back to class. I watch him go for a second before turning around and hurrying back to my own class, where I’m told off for being late. It doesn’t matter, though, because Achilles Katsaros knows who I am.

My next lesson is Biology, which I don’t have with Briseis, so she doesn’t get the opportunity to question me about what happened and why I came back to English late and grinning. She looked rather grumpy as she hurried off to Art, but I’m too distracted to really care about her annoyance. I love bio, but after the events of lunchtime, I _cannot_ focus, to the point where I don’t notice my teacher standing in front of my desk.

“Patroclus! Are you even paying attention?”

“Yes,” I say, smiling up at her. She just sighs and returns to her class. 

The double drags on, and I know Bri is anticipating the end of day bell as much as I am since she texts me thrice during the lesson.

_What’s up, P?_

_Don’t ignore me._

_Oh my god, Patroclus!_

I turn my phone off, and rest my head on my laptop for the rest of the lesson. By the time the bell does ring and I make it out of the classroom, I have another few texts from Bri. She’s also waiting by my locker.

“You want to know what it was?” I ask before she can make me feel bad about not answering her messages. “Achilles went to get a drink while I was there, and asked if I wanted to go to after school training.”

“What?” she whines, her face falling, and I’m surprised that she’s upset instead of excited for me. “What nights?”

“Wednesday and Friday, I—“

“But we always go out on Friday nights!”

A few people are grinning at the two of us, and I push past her to get to my locker. “Oh, come on, Bri. It’s just one night.”

“Ever since middle school,” she continues. I scowl, shoving my books into my bag and swinging it onto my back, slamming my locker shut.

“I talk to you every night, Bri, and we see each other most weekends anyway. Can’t I do this for myself?”

“Just go Wednesday?” she pleads, and I roll my eyes.

“Maybe, okay? I’ll think about it.”

She smiles, and takes a step in to give me a one-armed hug, her books pressing into my stomach. “Thanks,” she mumbles, and hurries off grab her bag and then catch her bus. I watch her go before turning around and walking out of the senior school, wandering across the oval and making my way down the main road. When I arrive home, I dump my schoolbag in the lounge and dig out my laptop. I’ve finished my homework by the time dad arrives home with takeaway for dinner, and we make small talk about our day before he moves to his study. I talk to Briseis while quietly watching TV until bedtime, and drift off to sleep remembering how Achilles’ eyes lit up as I said I’d come to training.

Tuesday and Wednesday are entirely uneventful. The days run like clockwork and I’m only half awake at any given time. Bri seems to have gotten over her brief anger, despite me not having decided on whether or not I’m going to training on Friday. Achilles, despite being in a French double and Food single in those two days, ignores me. Nobody mentions the blueberry incident in the single, and I’m glad it hasn’t become something I’m known for.

Eventually, though, the bell rings at the end of Wednesday’s lesson seven, and I find myself pausing at my locker. I don’t know if I should bring a book to read during training, or my homework – or should I participate in training itself? I end up packing only what work I need to finish tonight, and by the time I’ve shut and locked my locker, Bri has ran up to me to say goodbye.

“Have fun with Achilles,” she says, hugging me tightly. I hug her back, standing up on my toes to rest my chin on her head.

“I will. Bye, Bri.”

“Bye, Pat,” she mumbles, and pulls away before running off to catch her bus. She’s always running around, Bri. For someone so softhearted and introverted, she’s very determined. Always on time for everything.

Not me, however. By the time I show up on the school oval, the track and field team is already halfway through their warm ups. All their bags have been dumped in a big pile next to the ‘medical bench’, and I awkwardly sit down on the bench, unsure of what to do.

It only takes a few minutes for Achilles to notice my presence, and he jogs over to my bench, a wild grin on his face.  “Patroclus! You came!”

“I did,” I say, smiling. It’s weird - I don’t know if being around him makes me nervous or relaxed.

“I’ve told Coach you’ll be here, he says it’s a great idea. After warm ups he’ll come talk to you about what you can do. You can drop your bag next to mine, if you like—It’s the red Nike one, over there.” I step through the mound of bags to dump mine next to the one he points at. “Do you know how you’re getting home? Training finished at five, but usually goes a bit over.”

I make my way back through the bags to where he’s standing. Achilles has his head tilted a bit to the side, waiting for an answer.

“I walk home, so I can leave any time.” I remember his offer to hang out after training. I wonder if he’s forgotten about it.

“Great! Alright, cool, I’ll talk to you later,” he finishes, and gives a little wave before jogging back to the group to finish off the warm ups. The Coach yells at the boys for a bit before leaving the group, heading over to where I’m standing.

“Patroclus, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” I confirm, shaking the hand that he offers me.

“Friend of Achilles?”

“Something like that.”

He grins, and we both look over to the team as Achilles once again leads them around the oval, teasing at and laughing with them.

“Well, I’ve got a tray full of water bottles to fill, and nobody’s fetched a first-aid kid yet. They’re both by the PE office, would you like to fetch them?”

“Sure,” I agree, smiling, and take the keys that he offers me.

“And fetch the tape measure and rake from the sports shed after that, will you? You can help out in long jump.”

“Of course,” I say, and glance at Achilles and the rest of the team before running off to the PE office.

By the time I’ve brought out filled water bottles and the first-aid kit, the team’s finished their laps, and by the time I arrive with the tape measure and rake, they’re waiting for me at the long jump track.

 _“Hurry up,”_ yells one of the boys as I walk towards them, and I flush and jog the rest of the way.

“His name is _Patroclus,_ you shithead,” yells another boy seconds after the first, and the group bursts into laughter. The boy, in turn, is yelled at by the Coach, and is sent off to do another lap of the oval for swearing. Although, it doesn’t seem that he cares.

Achilles is given the task of assisting me with the rake and tape measure duties, and I finally learn how to actually do long jump. It’s apparently a lot more complicated than jumping into a pit of sand, and involves a lot of air running to try leap the furthest. They all look quite silly, but when Achilles finally has his turn, he looks rather graceful as he flies through the air. He effortlessly beats all the other team members, although when he steps out of the sand, he winks at me and says he can do better. I spend the rest of the time wondering how a single man can be as talented as he is beautiful, and wealthy, on top of that.

I end up being a dog of sorts, as I run and fetch whatever Coach asks of me as the boys go through their training. Throughout the session, I learn that they have a district competition approaching in a few weeks. The students who place the highest in their events go on to states, and Coach hopes that there’s a few who go on to nationals. As he says _nationals,_ the team looks to Achilles. From memory, he’s been the only athletics student from our school to go to nationals in the past few years.

One of the year ten boys hurts his ankle near the end of training. I help him hobble off to the medical bench and open the first aid kit. It’s surprisingly easy following the instructions within the tiny booklet, and soon enough I’ve applied an ice pack to his ankle and have given him a full briefing on how to fully recover before the competition.

“Thanks,” he says, smiling awkwardly.

“No worries. Yell if you need anything,” I say, grinning, and jog back to where Coach and the other boys are finishing up.

“…great job today, boys. Achilles, you’re doing well with the team, and I’m proud of you, but you should push yourself more. I don’t want you slacking off and not making it to nationals because you didn’t try hard enough.”

“Hearing you loud and clear, Coach,” Achilles assures.

Coach smiles. “Good! Well, you lot better get going. Oh, and Patroclus! Good work today. We could use your help around here.”

“Yeah, Pat was a lad,” one of the boys - Josh, I think his name was - calls out, and the rest of them laugh. I smile back at them. I’ve never particularly likes sports, but it’s great to be involved. The team has such a positive vibe to it, and I could do with the medical experience.

“Thanks, Coach.”

“You’re welcome, Patroclus. Now! All of you head homes before your mothers call and ask what the hell I’ve done with you sorry lot.”

The boys burst into laughter and give Coach high-fives as they all wander off to grab their bags. I trail along behind them, not really included but still feeling excited about it all. The group separates as their grab their bags and holler goodbyes to each other, and I finally have the opportunity to talk to Achilles again.

“Hey,” I say, and he looks up with a smile.

“Patroclus,” he says, and oddly enough, sounds surprised. “Hey! How was it?”

“It was great, yeah, I’m definitely going to come on Friday! I mean, I didn’t do much, but it just felt great helping out, and…” I make a few wild hand motions to describe how happy I feel, and he smiles, pulling his bag onto his back.

“That’s great, Patroclus,” he says, and my heart suddenly sinks as I realize he doesn’t look all that interested. “I’m sorry, but, I kinda gotta go. I forgot that I was seeing some friends right now, and…”

“Oh,” is all I can say.

“Sorry, man. See you Friday?”

“Yeah,” I mumble, and grab my bag. “See you Friday.”

Achilles gives another apologetic smile before turning around and running after a few of the other boys. “HEY, losers! Thought you were leaving without me?” His friends laugh and ruffle his hair, and I’m left standing there, the bag on my back as heavy as my heart. It’s only now that I feel the cool breeze of late afternoon in autumn, and I bite my lip as I walk towards the edge of the oval, stepping up onto the pathway. The sun’s nearing the horizon by the time I make it home, the sky fading from a solid blue to a gradient of colours.

I’ve received six texts from Briseis, but I’m not in the mood for chatting to her. Or my dad, for that matter. I lock myself away in my room for a few hours and finish my homework, only coming downstairs to make myself spaghetti for dinner. Dad arrives just as I’ve finished setting the table for him, and he smiles.

“Hello, Patroclus. How was school?”

“Good. I helped out the track and field team until five. I’ve got homework, so I’m eating upstairs. I’m really tired, so I’ll probably go to bed right after.”

Dad sighs, and sets his bag down in the lounge. “Sure, son. Remember to take the dishes back down. If you’ve been training, you probably need to have a shower.”

“Okay,” I say, only half-listening as I grab a plastic tray and set a bowlful of pasta, a cup filled with water, and some cutlery on it, taking it upstairs to finish in my room. I can only do my chapter questions for _Romeo and Juliet_ for so long, though, and eventually I feel myself growing bored. I think of Briseis, probably binge watching something in her room, and Achilles, who’s doing God knows what.

“Dickhead,” I mumble.

I take my empty dishes downstairs. Dad’s locked himself up in his room again and I have no appetite for reruns of _The Big Bang Theory,_ so I return to my room and call Briseis, who picks up on the first ring. It sounds like she’s watching something on her laptop, and I can hear the swell of music that symbolises that something dramatic is about to happen.

“Hey, Pat! How are you? How was training?”

“Good,” I reply, and groan softly as I shut my own laptop and slide it off the bed. “Achilles is kind of an arse, y’know?”

“Not really, but go on?”

“He said we could talk after training and then he ditched.”

Briseis laughs, and I suddenly realize how silly the whole thing sounds.

“He’s just popular, Pat. They do that. Invite you to do something and cancel half an hour after they’re supposed to meet up with you. They don’t _really_ like anybody.” I can hear TV screams, and I roll my eyes.

“Well, he obviously doesn’t like me much—Bri?”

“NO, DON’T SHOOT—HOLY—THEY JUST _SHOT HER!”_ Bri shrieks into his ear.

“Bri, Christ, calm down.”

“Oh my god,” Briseis wails. “Oh my god, they just—“

“Who?”

“Lori! From _The Walking Dead!”_

I frown. “I thought you didn’t like zombies.”

“I do now,” she says. It suddenly goes quiet, so the episode has either ended or she’s paused it. “Do you wanna talk about Achilles, or?”

“No, uh-- Bri? I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For telling you about Achilles all the time.”

“But you don’t! Not any more than a boy with a crush should. Maybe you should just ask him out, y’know, get it out of the way.”

I bite my lip. “I don’t want to be the gay kid, Bri.”

“Do you trust him to not tell?”

I take a deep breath and remember what Achilles told me a few days ago. _‘Patroclus. Hey, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone I asked you to come.’_ He knows what it’s like to have rumours spread about you. I doubt he’d want to spread rumours about anyone else. “Yeah. I think I can trust him.”

“Tell him, then. Or not. I don’t want to force you to come out. I gotta go, though. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Do you want to go to training on Friday?”

I assess the situation and make a quick decision. “No. Fridays are our night.”

“Thanks, Pat,” she says, and she sounds much happier. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She hangs up, and I roll over on the bed to put my phone on my bedside table. It’s getting dark and I’ve already finished my homework, so I roll out of bed and wander into the bathroom, brushing my teeth and taking a quick shower. I don’t bother telling my dad I’m going to bed – he doesn’t care much for me, anyway – and I check my phone again before turning the light off and quickly falling asleep.

Nothing much happens during the next few days. Achilles ignores me, I go to class, and Bri shares her newfound love for zombies and _The Walking Dead_ with me. Apparently it’s a lot more complicated than a zombie epidemic. We watch a few episodes together in classes and at lunch, and by the end of Friday I love it almost as much as she does. She requests that I binge watch the first three seasons as she has somehow managed to do over the past week, and I agree.

Everything’s fine until the last lesson on Friday – Food and Hospitality, where we’re learning how to bake and ice cupcakes – and Achilles ends up being assigned to me as my cooking partner.

“Hello, stranger,” he says, smiling. “Which kitchen would you like?”

I force a smile back, as I’m still rather pissed at him, and nod to my kitchen of choice. “Blue, it’s near the bowls and has its own sink. I’ll grab the aprons and you can put our books away?”

“Arranged,” Achilles agrees, and I hand him my laptop and pencil case. He dashes over to claim the kitchen labelled _BLUE,_ and I grab aprons for the two of us, wandering over to our kitchen and grabbing a recipe on the way over.

“Here,” I say, throwing the spare apron at him. He catches it and we both pull ours on. “Do mine up?” I ask, turning around. I feel his hands brush against my sides as he picks up the ties and twists them into a tight bow. As I turn around, he reaches behind his back and knots his own apron, smiling at me.

“I’ll collect ingredients and you collect equipment?” he questions.

“Arranged,” I agree. He grins, and I busy myself with checking off items on the equipment list, pulling out baking tins, mixing bowls and measuring cups and spoons. Achilles returns with the ingredients before I’ve arranged everything, and he grabs the recipe from where I’m looking at it, studying it for a few seconds.

“Do you know how to light an oven?”

I look up at him, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t?”

Achilles catches my surprised expression, and he scowls. “No,” he mumbles.

I laugh, which makes Achilles scowl more.

 _“What?”_ he demands.

“Doesn’t matter. You can run, I can bake. How much does the oven need to be preheated?”

“One eighty degrees,” he says carefully, and I go over to the oven. “Here,” I say, pointing. “You press this switch, which creates a spark, and then you turn on the gas, which ignites a flame. If you turn on the gas first, there will be a lot of gas to burn when you light it, and it’ll fuck shit up.” I make a ‘kaboom’ hand motion to explain my point before lighting the oven and standing back up. “See? Easy.”

“Oh,” says Achilles. “Do you want to take charge?”

“Sure,” I say, and take the piece of paper that Achilles offers me. “Now, I’m assuming you know how to sift flour?”

“Of course.”

I smile. “Well, you handle step one, and I’ll line the muffin pan.”

We work swiftly, with me telling him what to do and him always checking me for a confirmation that he hasn’t screwed up something. I’m surprised at how terrible he is at everything, and I find out that he usually doesn’t do much in Food. The people he’s often paired with are fine to do most of the work, and he gets put with the easier jobs.

“Like sifting flour,” he explains.

We’re the third pair out of twelve to put our cupcakes in the oven, and Achilles demands that we start on the icing instead of waiting. He pulls out the electric beater and starts adding ingredients to another bowl. I decide to clean up and run hot water in one of the sinks, filling the other with cool water. I’m halfway through washing the dishes when he finishes the icing, though, and as he moves over to help me by drying the equipment, he starts to talk.

“Are you coming to training tonight?”

“Of course,” I say automatically, and then bite my lip. I know I’m not going and now I’ve ruined my chance to let him down gently.

“Great,” he says, smiling. “We’re focusing more on long-distance running today, and Coach is going to help us develop individual workout plans so we can train for district day at home. I usually go for runs in the morning. Most of the other boys do too. I know you don’t want to join the team, but you could probably participate in training, y’know? It’s really fun.”

I bite my lip. “Mmm, seems like it.”

Achilles continues to tell me about how training’s going, and I nod my head and comment from time to time to keep him talking. He seems to be really enjoying himself, and I feel bad for telling him I’m coming to training when I’m just going to ditch him. Going back on a promise is something I absolutely hate to do, but I promise Briseis first, so I suppose Achilles has to be let down for once.

We finish just as the timer dings to take the cupcakes out of the oven, and I help Achilles safely remove them. The teacher gives a brief talk on icing the cupcakes and soon enough our cupcakes are iced and the bell’s ringing for us to leave.

“I’ll see you in a few, yeah?” Achilles asks, grinning, as we put our aprons away and collect our books.

“Yeah, definitely,” I reply. As soon as Achilles disappears, I make a mad dash for my locker. It takes ages to figure out what books I need over the weekend, but soon I’m slamming my locker shut and running off to Briseis’ bus stop. She’s waiting for me when I arrive, and she beams, giving me a tight hug.

“Thought you might ditch me at the last minute.”

“Achilles was bugging me about it during Food, and I told him I was going to training,” I admit, hugging her back. “But I promised you first. So here I am.”

“Thanks,” Bri says, and it doesn’t take long before the bus arrives and we hop on, dinging our metrocards as we do. The bus is fairly packed, but we still manage to find a pair of seats near the back. Bri scoots along into the window seat and I sit next to her, pulling my phone and earphones out of my pocket and selecting one of my playlists to listen to. We sit in silence for the whole trip, me listening to my music and Briseis watching the world pass by at the window, and half an hour later we press the STOP button and get off. I don’t take my earphones out as we hop off and Briseis takes it as a sign I don’t want to talk. She just smiles and reaches up to grab my left earphone, putting it in her own ear. We reach out for each other’s hand and my serenity isn’t broken as I pocket my earphones and let go of her hand as we reach her house, or when her little siblings, Ruth, five, and Micah, three, run up to us and hug our legs as we walk through the front door.

“BRI,” shrieks Micah. “MUUUUUUM, BRI’S HOME!”

Briseis’ mother, a curvy, loving woman named Rose with skin as dark and as beautiful as her daughter’s, walks out of the kitchen in track pants, a dirty t shirt and an apron. “Patroclus!” she greets, beaming, and walks over the floor of discarded toys and picture books to hug us both, wiping her hands on her apron and tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear before she does. “Briseis, baby, how was school?”

“Great, mum. Really great.” Briseis genuinely smiles at her, and then Rose looks up at me, ignoring the two yelling children for a second.

“And you, Patroclus?”

“Really good, Rose.” I match Briseis smile, and Rose looks relieved. Micah whines, and Rose bends down and picks him up, holding him in her arms.

“That’s wonderful! Do you two want cookies?”

 _“Please,”_ I groan, and Briseis rolls her eyes, grinning.

“They’re in the kitchen if you need them. I’ll keep these two out of your way while you two are upstairs,” she tells us, forgetting us instantly and sitting Micah back down on the couch. I can hear some children’s cartoon on the TV – it sounds like _The Wiggles,_ maybe, or _High Five –_ but Briseis just about drags me into the kitchen, and suddenly I spot the cooling rack piled high with chocolate chip cookies.

“Oh man, _cookies,”_  I say, reaching out to grab one. Briseis swats my hand away.

“Dumbass! They’re on a cooling rack for a reason,” she grumbles, and I pout as she tentatively pokes one of the cookies before picking it up, experimentally taking a nibble.

“So?” I ask.

“Absolutely disgusting,” she decides, grinning, and shoves the rest of the cookie into her mouth. “zero out of ten, would not recommend.”

I grin back and take a plate out of a drawer, sliding a dozen onto it and taking one for myself from the larger pile. Briseis opens the cupboard and grabs a box of Jatz, and together we take out food to her room. Briseis’ house, unlike mine, is a single-story house, and she has her room conveniently wedged between her kitchen and bathroom. We drop our bags at the foot of her bed and I close the door behind me – Rose trusts me to not get her daughter pregnant, apparently, so she lets us close the door when I come over – and Bri immediately pulls out her laptop.

“I promised you a _Walking Dead_ marathon, right?” she asks, grinning, and I kick my shoes off before sitting down next to her on the bed, watching her bring up Episode Six Season One of _The Walking Dead._

“Yeah, sure. If you count a marathon as four episodes.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Nine, I think. What’s for dinner?”

“No idea.”

“You should tell your mum I’m staying for dinner.”

“Will do.” Briseis kicks off her own shoes and slides the laptop into my lap before rolling over on the bed, lying down on her stomach with her head towards her pillows. I push the laptop up to her head and shuffle over next to her, and we spend a minute arranging the pillows to receive the least amount of neck pain. I grab the cookies and Jatz and we place them on either side of the laptop, cookies on my side and Jatz on hers.

“Want to go out for ice cream after dinner?” I ask as she’s about to press _play_ on the episode.

Briseis gives me a weird look. “Huh?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Ice cream. I have money.”

“We haven’t gone out of the house on Friday movie night in _ever.”_

I feel my cheeks flush and I press my face into the pillow, groaning. “So?”

“So is this, like.” She pauses, and I really hope she doesn’t say it. “A date… Thing?”

She said it.

“I’m gay, Bri,” I mumble into the pillow, and look up at her. She looks confused, and kinda pissed. “I just feel like ice cream. Okay?”

“In three hours’ time?”

“You know what? Fuck ice cream.” I hit the spacebar, pressing play, and the episode starts. It’s a few minutes later that Bri hits the keyboard again, pressing pause, and she looks over to me and bites her lip.

“I’m sorry, Pat. Can we still get ice cream?”

“Sorry for what?” I ask cautiously, and she rolls her eyes, huffing.

“Sorry for questioning your gayness.”

I can’t help but grin, and she smiles back. “I’m sorry for taking it badly. Do you wanna just watch the episode now, or?”

“Does that mean we’re still getting ice cream?”

“Yes, it does, Briseis. Yes it does.” I take a cookie and press it against her lips, and she makes a funny face before eating it. She hits the spacebar again, playing the episode, and we both settle down to watch it, grabbing and eating the biscuits throughout. I gasp and laugh at the appropriate bits, and grab Briseis’ hand at the scary ones. She keeps holding my hand so I don’t pull away, and she rests her head on my shoulder halfway through episode seven. Just as we start episode eight, Rose pokes her head through the door.

“Are you staying for dinner, Patroclus? We’re having butter chicken.”

I hit pause, and turn my head to smile at Rose. “If that isn’t an inconvenience, I’d love to.”

“Dinner’s in an hour,” she announces, smiling, before leaving. She shuts the door behind her, and I look down at Bri, who still has her head on my shoulder and her hand in mine.

“You still awake?” I mumble, poking her hair with my spare hand.

“Mmmmfuckoff.”

I gasp mockingly. “Language, Briseis!”

She laughs softly, and takes her head off my shoulder and rests her chin on the pillow, bringing her own spare hand up to hit the spacebar on the laptop once again. This time, I’m the one who rests my head on her shoulder, and even after the episode’s finished we stay like that until Rose comes in to announce that dinner’s ready.

“’Kay, mum,” Bri replies, and groans before getting up. We take our empty cookie plate back to the kitchen before sitting down next to each other at the dining table. Briseis’ father, Sam, has arrived home from work, and he smiles at the both of us as Rose serves dinner.

“Hello, Briseis, Patroclus. How was school?”

“Good. I had to budget for a baby in Child Studies,” Briseis says, giving a tired smile.

“Oh, really now?" Rose asks, beaming. "And how much did this baby cost?"

“Too much." Briseis grumbles, rolling her eyes. "And we're only learning about the costs of a newborn."

 

Sam and Rose exchange a knowing grin, and Briseis kicks my shin in the hope I'll say something before they do.

"Uh, Briseis and I also finished watching  _Gallipoli_ today, in History," I say lamely. “It was, uh, really interesting, actually.”

“What classes are you and Briseis in, Patroclus?” Rose asks, and briefly smiles at me before hushing the small ones, who are looking at each other in a ‘I’m about to throw food at you’ way.

“English, Drama, History and extension Maths. Other than Drama, we’ve picked different electives, and all our other classes are on at different times.” I shrug.

Rose has calmed down the children, and for the first time in hours they fall quiet and follow the conversation I’m having with their parents. “I’m still surprised you didn’t pick Music, Patroclus,” Rose continues. “You strike me as the musical type.”

“Oh, no. I’m quite terrible with music.”

“Such a shame. Remember when you were in a band, Sam?”

“Sure do,” Sam replies, grinning, and they both launch into the long story of how they met. I’ve heard it a thousand times – Sam was the drummer in a shitty high school band, and Rose was the only girl who didn’t find them atrocious – but I fall silent and listen to the story. Bri interjects occasionally, giving her own commentary: “You _were_ a terrible band, dad”, “No, _Lukewarm Kittens_ was definitely the worst band name of them all”, and “blah blah blah you got married and had kids the end.” After dinner I help Rose load the dishwasher and then I ask if Bri and I can go out for ice cream.

“Sure,” she agrees. “Be back by eight, okay? Take your phones and keys.”

“Will do,” I say, and smile at her before going back to Briseis’ room. I pull on my shoes as she rushes around, grabbing things. I dig through my bag to find my money and stuff $10 into my pocket.

“You good?” I ask, and she nods.

It’s a ten minute walk to the nearest ice cream shop and it’s dark outside, but the breeze has died down and there are streetlamps lighting the way. A little bell rings as we walk through the door and we’re hit with a blast of warm air from the heater. There’s a radio in the corner playing Taylor Swift, and the worker, a small blonde girl who can’t be much older than us, smiles.

“You two are so cute together! Wish I had a boyfriend to buy me ice cream on a Friday night.”

“Same,” Briseis says, giving a fake smile. It takes the poor girl a few moments to realize her mistake, but I order before she can embarrass herself further.

“Could I have two scoops of chocolate in a cup, please?”

“Sure,” she says, and I watch Briseis look at the twenty different flavours advertised in the window as the girl makes my ice cream.

“You can get anything under five dollars, so knock yourself out,” I tell her, and she beams.

“Could I have one scoop of rainbow and one scoop of rocky road in a cup? Please? With sprinkles.” I bite my lip to hide a smirk, but Briseis catches my amusement. “Gotta problem with sprinkles?”

“Nah.”

“You’re lookin’ awfully smug, mister.” She pokes my chest accusingly, and I give a mock pout.

“Who, me?”

“No, the asshole called— _Shit.”_

“Called Shit?” I question, frowning, but she just pokes my chest more aggressively.

 _“Achilles is here!”_ She hisses, motioning to the door.

“What? No.” I look behind me, only to find not only Achilles but the entire track and field teamoutside the ice cream shop, staring straight at me.

“Here are your ice creams,” says the worker.

“Thanks. Um, Pat, do you want to pay?”

“Yeah,” I mumble, turning back and smiling awkwardly at Bri and the girl before fishing the $10 out of my pocket.

“Hold on, let me pay for that,” says a voice behind me, and I cringe. Achilles strides up to the counter and pulls his wallet out of his jeans, presenting the girl with his own $10 note. The worker seems a little confused, but takes it anyway, giving Achilles his change.

“Would you like anything?”

“No, thank you.” Achilles smiles sweetly, and I know that I’m in deep, deep shit. At least the track and field team seems to have moved on – it’s just me, Briseis and Achilles in the store. I don’t know if that’s better or worse.

“Bri, do you wanna, um, stay inside? I think Achilles and I should, uh, talk,” I mutter.

Briseis raises her eyebrows and looks from me to him, and back again. “Sure,” she agrees slowly. “You boys keep it safe.”

I blush, and Achilles gives a cruel smile. “After you,” he says, motioning to the door, and I take my ice cream and walk outside into the stinging evening air.

“What the _fuck_ was that?” Achilles snaps as soon as the door swings shut. “You made me look like the biggest idiot! Coach kept asking where the _hell_ you were, and all I could say was that I thought you were coming!”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” I mumble.

“You made me look like a fool, Patroclus!”

“I know. Fuck, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t think you’d give a shit.”

Achilles looks like he’s been slapped. “Of course I give a shit, you _turd._ Why do you think I invited you in the first place?”

“Why the fuck did you ditch me on Wednesday, then? You were all, let’s hang out later, and then later came around and you were suddenly like, Oh, sorry, gotta fly! And I felt like you’d played me, Achilles! You’re popular! I thought, why the hellwould _he_ give a shit? Because most people don’t!” My voice rose louder than I thought it would and out of the corner of my eye I can see Briseis watching me, concern flooding her face. Achilles just watches me, and brings his hands up to run through his hair, biting his lip.

“You’re right,” he admits. “I’m sorry it came off that way. But I would like to be friends, if you’d want that?”

Achilles looks vulnerable for once, and _hell,_ he’s adorable. I’ve never seen him lose it like this. I don’t think anyone’s seen him lose it like this, and I can’t believe he’s losing it over _me._ “Why do you want that, Achilles?”

“Patroclus,” he groans. “I like you. Just shut up about why. Okay, Jesus, how about – you’re not an asshole. There. That’s a good reason to make a friend, yeah?”

“Says the asshole.”

A wild grin tugs at Achilles’ lips, and as I roll my eyes I feel a smile tugging at my lips too.

“Want some ice cream?” I offer, holding out my cup and unused plastic spoon. Achilles laughs, running his fingers through his beautiful hair even more before taking the cup and spoon from me. He has a bite of the ice cream and passes it back.

“Thanks, Patroclus,” he says gently.

“You know, most people just call me Pat.”

“I like your name, though. _Pa-tro-clus._ It’s rather beautiful.”

“You make it sound beautiful,” I offer, and he looks a little flustered.

“So. Friends?” He asks.

“Yeah,” I say, smiling, and we both walk back into the ice cream store to greet a frowning Briseis. “Friends sounds awesome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading this. It took me a fortnight to write it, but I'm really proud of myself for doing so. I haven't tried writing a really lengthy fic before, but I really love the idea of this AU so I'll hopefully continue. Second chapter should be out sometime. I really don't know.
> 
> Also: I'm sorry if any of the three are a little OOC - I just happened to lend my copy of the novel to a friend just before I thought of this. Additionally, this isn't set in a specific country, but I'm Australian, so if there's anything weird or unfamiliar in here it's probably just that. 
> 
> Any feedback would be welcomed! Thanks again for reading, I hope you enjoyed it :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINALLY FINISHED. I'm so sorry to everyone who had to wait, I rather underestimated how much of my time I'd spend on homework once the term started, so... Yeah. Also, I probably would've liked to go over this a few more times and work on the ending a bit more, but I'm going on a school camp tomorrow and wanted to just get this out. I hope you like it!
> 
> Also, I've now decided on something: Definitely set in Australia, folks. Y'all can learn a lil' bit more about my country.

Becoming friends with Achilles is one of the easiest things I’ve done.

We swap mobile numbers that Friday night in the ice cream shop, and only a day passes before Achilles texts me for the first time – at six thirty in the morning, damn him. _You should run with me in the mornings,_ is all he says, and a minute later sends a photo of the sun rising over the ocean. He seems to like texting me, even when I don’t reply, and he often sends me little messages detailing what he’s doing.

_Baking cookies. Without blueberries._

_Movie reflections are so boring!_

_Do you have siblings? I wonder what it’d be like to have a little sister._

_What are you doing?_

_Is $6 expensive for an ice cream?_

_Why don’t you like sport?_

_If I had a little sister, I wouldn’t have to explain to my dad why a 17 year old boy is watching Mulan._

When I show up to lunchtime training on Monday, Helen can’t believe what she’s missed.

“Patroclus? Friends with Achilles?” she scoffs. “Who would’ve thought!”

By the end of the week, most of the team knows my name, and a week later I’m joining them in their stretches. I tell Coach that I have commitments on Fridays, and he says that it’s fine if I don’t attend all training sessions. Achilles calls me at five that Friday, and I make Briseis pause the _Walking Dead_ episode we’re up to so I can talk to him. Achilles gives me a lengthy update on what happened during training while Briseis makes faces and imitates Achilles flexing his muscles, and I have to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing. Eventually, he shuts up about training and asks what I’m doing. When I tell him that I’m with Briseis, he asks if we want to go for ice cream again. I repeat the question to Briseis and then hold out the phone so Achilles can hear Briseis shriek _‘OHMIGOD YES,’_ and we both hear him laugh.

Ice cream with Achilles and Briseis is amazing,even though Achilles stubbornly orders a hot chocolate instead of ice cream – “It’s winter, you idiots, don’t buy something cold” - and all of us agree to do it every week. He texts me even more on the weekend, and I find myself calling him on Sunday evening - to discuss Disney movies, of all things. His favourite, no surprise, is _Hercules,_ and he laughs when I tell him that I was scared of Cruella Deville as a child. I end up inviting him over, despite it being 8pm on a school night, and he shows up at my place on his bike fifteen minutes later. We spend the evening watching _Hercules_ and then _Mulan,_ before he leaves me with a stack of unfinished homework and an empty packet of microwave popcorn.

District day is in three weeks, and training has become a lot more serious. Monday morning becomes a training session, too, and Achilles insists that I attend. It’s just past seven when dad comes in to wake me; I groan, rolling over in bed, and he turns on the light.

“Your friend is waiting outside, Patroclus.”

I bring my hand up and awkwardly wave it in dad’s direction in a _goawaylemmesleep_ motion. Dad leaves, but the light stays on, and I nuzzle the pillow, wondering why the _hell_ I decided to become friends with Achilles Katsaros if it means getting up early on a Monday. I hear dad letting Achilles into the house, though, and groan again as I get out of bed, stumbling over to the door and shutting it. Grabbing my PE uniform from the mess on the floor and pulling it on, I stuff my regular winter uniform into my PE bag, and eventually I’ve kind-of packed my bag. I’m tying up my shoelaces when the door opens and Achilles sticks his head around the corner, his hair messy from his run.

“Just woke up?” Achilles asks, his eyes going from my own messy hair to my unmade bed and my PE bag hurriedly stuffed with clothes, my blue-and-white striped tie hanging half-out.

“What time do you get up at, four?” I grumble, tying the final knot and standing up.

“Something like that. Let’s go, you can shower at school and your breakfast is in the toaster. Should be finished in a minute.”

I roll my eyes and push past him, heading towards the bathroom. “Needy, much? We’ve got a good ten minutes, I’ll spend them how I like.”

“Just don’t take half an hour with your hair products,” Achilles calls after me, still standing in my doorway.

“Think you’re talking ‘bout yourself, golden boy,” I shoot back, and flash him a grin before closing the door. By the time I’ve brushed my teeth, run my fingers through my hair and used my deodorant, Achilles is impatiently waiting for me in the lounge, holding both my bags on his lap.

“I packed your lunch and checked your timetable so all your homework is in your bag now let’s _go,”_ Achilles whines, bouncing my bags on his knees, looking like the biggest goddamn child in the world.

I grin. “You have my maths homework?”

“Yes.”

“And my laptop?”

“Yes.”

“My calculator was on my desk next to my—“

“I will put you on my shoulders and run back here if you have missed anything.”

“Breakfast?”

Achilles rolls his eyes dramatically and holds out a piece of cling-wrapped toast. I reach out to grab it, but he pulls it back, giving a wicked smile.

“Nuh-uh,” he coos. “You can eat when we get to school.”

“Deal,” I say, and Achilles immediately leaps up out of his seat, my bag on his back and my PE bag in his hand, and pushes me out of the house.

“I stole your keys from your bag. I’ll lock up, you get a head start,” he yells, shoving me onto the footpath, and I laugh, setting off at a jog. I glance behind me to see Achilles fumbling with my keys, and I run faster, my breath coming out in short huffs and my years old sneakers rhythmically thumping against the pavement. A car’s awkwardly parked on the footpath, and I quickly look both ways to check that there aren’t any other cars coming before I dash out onto the road. It seems that Achilles has figured out how to use a key, because he’s started running after me, looking like an absolute idiot with a bag on his back and a second in his hand. Still, he’s gaining on me, and I curse my laziness as I round a corner. School’s only two blocks away now, and my breath deepens as I sprint.

There’s only the main road left between me and the school, now – four lanes of cars heading to work and school.

 _“Dammit,”_ I mumble, slamming my hand on the pedestrian crossing button. “Damn, damn, _dammit!”_

Achilles notices me waiting at the crossing, the red pedestrian light glowing strong and the rhythmic _pings_ of the button staying achingly slow.

“Hello there,” he greets as he slows down to a jog and then stops infront of me, his trademark grin wild on his face. “Tired?”

He doesn’t seem at all bothered by the run, but my cheeks are flushed and my breath hasn’t slowed. “’Spose,” I mumble.

The cars coming in the opposite direction start to slow and I know that it’s only a few moments before the red pedestrian light turns to green. Achilles notices too, and raises an eyebrow at me.

“Race you?” He asks, and I throw him a grin as the _pings_ intensify and the red light is replaced by green, taking off at a sprint again as I dash across the road and hurl myself down the footpath. I can hear footsteps and the bangs and crashes of someone running with a bag behind me, and I hate to give him more of an advantage than already, but I slow down as we approach the main gate. A car turns into the driveway – one of the other track and field boys being dropped off, I think – and Achilles dashes past it, leaping onto the oval on the other side of the driveway. I curse, checking that there aren’t any other cars before running over to where Achilles is standing on the oval, near a few other track and field boys and a small pile of bags.

“I beat you!” he crows when I make it over to him, bending down to rest my hands on my knees as I try to catch my breath. “You’re rather unfit, you know?”

“Christ!” I groan, glaring up at him. “You just realized?”

Achilles is still grinning, the damned idiot. He drops my bags next to a pair which I recognise as his own – he must’ve come by earlier to ditch his bags before going to get me. “Ready for training?” He asks, beginning his stretches.

“Maybe,” I say, sitting down on the grass and running my fingers through my hair. “I’ll start my warmups when Coach gets here.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort. Here.” He offers me a hand and I sigh, taking it and letting him pull me up. He returns to his stretches, and I match them.

“Must I participate?” I ask. “I’m not even part of the team.”

“We’ll make an athlete out of you,” Achilles teases, and if I wasn’t exhausted, I would reach out and shove him.

We fall into silence as we finish the rest of the stretches. A few of the other boys are here and also warming up but they don’t come over to join us. When we finish, Achilles bends down, unzipping my PE bag, and digs through a few things before he finally pulls out my cling-wrapped toast.

“Here,” he says, holding it out to me. “Oh, and I put your keys back in your bag.” I sigh, taking it, and unwrap it as he sets off at a lazy jog around the oval. I wander over to my bench and plonk down on it, eating my breakfast as I watch Achilles. Another boy or two joins him as he goes around for his second lap, and as it ticks closer to half past seven the whole team slowly trickles onto the oval; they stretch for a while before joining Achilles in his laps, and by the time Coach arrives, there are only three boys who haven’t shown up.

“Morning, Pat,” Coach greets, setting the tray of water bottles next to my bench.

I smile up at him. “G’morning, Coach.”

“Not joining the boys today?”

“Nah. Too early in the day for effort.”

He grins. “Nice to have you here, nonetheless.”

The team finished their laps and stop in front of Coach. He starts dishing out instructions to the boys, and my mind starts to wander. It turns out that I’m not particularly involved for the entirety of the training session. Coach lets me go ten minutes early for a morning shower in the boys’ changing rooms, which I’m rather grateful for. I recall one story that was going around a few months ago about some of the boys on the swim team flashing their junk at one of the younger members, and while I trust the track and field team to not do anything so stupid, I’m can’t help but be wary.

As I leave the change rooms in my uniform, my PE bag and towel slung over my shoulder, I see the team wandering down the corridor towards me.

_Oh, thank god, I just missed them._

“Hey, Pat,” a few boys call out. I smile awkwardly, ducking my head as I let them push past me. Achilles gives me a brief smile as he passes, bringing a hand up to ruffle my hair. When I get out of the sports centre, I help Coach pack away the equipment from the session before grabbing my school bag and going back to the year eleven lockers. Briseis’ bus was apparently early today, as she’s waiting for me when I arrive, and she rushes over to gossip with me about today’s training session and how Achilles has now visited my house.

“He’s met your dad,” she points out as we lean against my locker. “It’s totally a thing now.”

“I’ve met your parents and we’re not a thing,” I retort, to which she rolls her eyes dramatically.

 _“Yeah,_ but you don’t like me!”

“True,” I agree, and laugh. She grins, shoving me lightly, and then starts blabbering on about _The Walking Dead_ until the bell goes for the start of school. I grab my books from my locker before visiting hers, and she still hasn’t shut up as we wander over to my tutor room, which students are slowly finding their way to.

“Good morning, Patroclus,” greets Collins, who’s my tutor as well as my history teacher. “Have you finished the movie reflection?”

I give a small smile in welcome and dump my books on a spot at the front which is facing the window. “Yes, I think I emailed it to you last night?”

“I didn’t check my emails last night, so that sounds possible.”

“Hello Mr Collins,” chirps Briseis before he can pester me more about the work.

“Hello, Briseis. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Yep,” she agrees, and shuffles her books across to hold in one arm so she can awkwardly hug me.

“See you later?” she asks, smiling up at me.

“Yeah.”

As I sit down in my chair, Samantha, the kind-of friend who sits next to me in English, raises an eyebrow at me.

“Sure you two aren’t dating?”

“Positive,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’m as into her as you are with Harry.”

 _“Well,”_ she starts, and I grin.

“Really? You and him?”

“Maybe,” she says, smiling, and I laugh.

I end up talking to her for the whole of tutor and well into my Graphic Design lesson. I’m a complete klutz with computers, so I hoped the class would help me. Unfortunately, the only thing it has done is dropped my overall grades and made me want to scream at whoever designed Adobe Photoshop, as well as Ms Williams for not explaining how the heck to use it properly. Samantha, thankfully, is much better than I am, and right off the bat she tells me what I’m doing wrong. Apparently, it isn’t entirely my fault – the new laptops handed out at the beginning of the year are incredibly faulty, and what I didn’t realize was that my program was continuously glitching.

“I’d recommend going to Tech Support. This isn’t your fault, I’ve gone there three times in the past week to ask about my mouse. And Harry’s gone there about his graphics. They don’t always fix it, but they do as much as they can.”

“Thanks, Sam,” I say, giving her a bright smile, and ask the teacher for permission to leave the classroom to go to the IT Lounge. She agrees, and I thank Samantha a fifth time before grabbing my laptop and leaving the classroom.

The most direct route from the Arts building to the IT Lounge is through the Music centre. I take the stairs two at a time, glancing at the note of Kingsdale’s Bands Showcase that’s been stuck on the brick wall before wandering down the narrow hallway next to what appears to be the practice rooms. It’s only 9:10am, so not many of the rooms are in use.

Except one, apparently. I pause as I pass practice room three – someone’s playing the violin inside, and I think I might be completely ignorant, because if the school had a student who played this well, they’d shove it in everyone’s faces. The song’s something old, I know that much – old and rich and gorgeous, the ebbing and flowing of the pace and volume like ripples in a river. The melody of the violin is accompanied by a voice; a boy’s voice, not singing any words in particular; just notes, rising and falling to match the violin. His voice is clear and bright, and I’m tempted to peek inside to see who it is. Whoever he is, he’s beautiful. Also, completely distracting me from what I’m meant to be doing. I tear myself away from the thought of the boy with the violin and continue along to the IT lounge.

“I think we might have to reinstall this,” says Matt, one of the Tech Support people, when I give him my laptop and he starts poking around in my files. “And maybe a few other programs. Have you checked each program individually for issues?”

“No?” Was I supposed to?

“Hm. Well, come back at lunchtime. Do you need a loan laptop until then?”

“Oh no, I’ll be fine.” I smile at him, which he ignores as he keeps frowning at my screen. “May I go, then?”

“Yep. Hold up, your name is?” He tears his eyes away from my laptop for a second so he can grab a sticky note from the clutter of mess on his desk. He finds a pen and clicks the end, looking up at me.

“Patroclus Miaoulis.”

“Alright. Thanks.” He scribbles down my name and peels off the note, sticking it on the back of my laptop. “You can go back to class.”

I smile again before turning and leaving the room. I see Matt putting my laptop to one side as I leave, and I sigh. He’ll probably only get to it ten minutes before lunch. Another boy, this one in year eight, I think, passes me. He has hair the colour of almonds and his tie is awkwardly done up. His laptop is held tightly in his hands as he rushes to the IT lounge. I grin, wondering what his issue might be. The year eights are admittedly as terrible as I am with computers, except they come rushing to Matt, Jake and Hannah whenever they have the tiniest issue.

I open the door to the music centre, once again wandering down the hallway next to the practice rooms. It’s been about ten minutes since I last walked by, and practice room three is still occupied. The boy with the violin is still playing – although I think he’s playing something different – and since I don’t need to rush back to class due to me being unable to do any work without my laptop, I stand next to the notice board and pretend to look at the practice timetables while I listen to him play.

I lose track of time, listening to that violin. People push past me every so often; I just focus a little more and put my finger to the timetable for the trumpet lessons, as if searching for my name. The boy continues to play, without stopping and not speaking; the only time he uses his voice is to sing, occasionally weaving it in and out of his sonata. Eventually, though, he stops. I check my watch to find that it’s nine thirty: I’ve been out of the classroom for twenty minutes.

“Shit,” I whisper, and am about to rush off to class when the door to the third practice room swings open right infront of me.

“Patroclus?” Asks Achilles, a violin and a bow in one hand and his brow furrowed in confusion. His golden hair is pulled back with a hair tie, and damn him, because it looks really hot.

“A-- _Achilles?”_

“What are you—You… Are not a music student.” He draws out his sentence, churning the question in his mind as he asks it.

“Neither are _you,”_ I point out, almost as slowly. We stare at each other, wide-eyed and utterly confused, until we both hear footsteps at the end of the hallway. Achilles grabs my wrist and pulls me into the practice room, closing the door behind him. He puts a finger to his lips and raises the violin, returning to the sonata he was playing minutes before. Footsteps approach, pause, then move on, and Achilles immediately drops the violin and glares at me.

“What the hell are you doing here? And don’t you dare tell me that you’re a music student, because I know that you’re not.”

I bite my lip, and decide that it’s easiest to tell the truth. “I needed to drop my laptop off at Tech Support and was rather charmed by your music. So I, uh, listened. For a long while.”

“Did you know that it was me?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yet you were so awed by it that you stopped and listened?” He seems surprised that someone might enjoy his playing. “I’m not amazing. Just average, I guess.”

“That was beautiful!” I defend, and when he gives me a funny look, I add, “…Dumbass.”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes and get defensive. “It’s just from years of practice. I’m not _good_ at it, you know? Anyone with my experience could do the exact same thing.”

 _I swear to god, this idiot makes me want to—_ “Fine. Teach me.”

“Really?” Achilles raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “You sure? It can take years to learn properly, especially if you can’t read music. So if you’re not up for it…” He keeps giving me the judgemental look, and my defences crumble even more.

“Whatever! I don’t want to learn. I suck at music. But you’re good. Please let me continue listening to you.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “Sure. Not now, though. You need to get back before Ms Williams comes looking for you. You can come over my place after school, yeah? Nineteen Ashgrove court. It’s twenty minutes away by foot, running. Maybe half an hour for you.” He winks before opening the door and stepping outside into the hallway, very quickly packing away his violin. He sets off down the hall at a running pace, leaving me in the practice room. I watch him go before returning to my classroom.

 _“Patroclus!_ I don’t think that ‘taking your laptop to Tech Support’ takes half an hour.” Ms Williams immediately demands as soon as I set foot back in the graphic design classroom. Everyone turns to stare at me; I smile awkwardly.

“I’m very sorry, Ms Williams. I got distracted in the music department. Matt has my laptop until lunchtime so I took my time coming back.” I decide to tell a vague truth, which has two benefits: One, there are music teachers who can probably confirm that I was there. Therefore, Ms Williams will believe that. Additionally, Bri is quite an aggressive clarinettist, and therefore, the class will believe it too. A few faces, curious about what look me so long, grin now that they make the assumption that I was hooking up with Bri – I should warn her, really, about a new rumour spreading.

“Well, now you’ve missed half of the lesson. Return to your seat. Samantha will fill you in on what you have missed.” Ms Williams gives me a pointed look and I quickly sit back down in my seat, giving Sam a sheepish grin. She smiles back at me for half a second before returning to her laptop. The teacher quickly loses interest in me, and Sam takes the opportunity to raise her eyebrows in a ‘tell me everything’ way.

I open up my sketchbook and flip to a blank page. Pulling out a pencil, I lightly scribble _‘not bri – achilles’_ and slide the book to her, receiving a slight gasp in response.

“You and--? Ohmygod.” Even though she’s whispering, people are still listening. I take a moment to silently thank her for not using pronouns.

“No!” I reply, blushing slightly and dropping my voice quiet enough to hopefully go unnoticed. “We’re friends. Don’t tell?”

“You’re blushing! Holy _shit.”_

 _“Samantha.”_ I try my best to appear—Well, straight, I guess. Just disgusted and uncomfortable enough at the idea of me being gay to not come off as aggressively closeted and-slash-or aggressively crushing on Achilles. Which I am.

“Okay, okay, I know, sorry. But that’d—…Okay I’ll stop.”

“Good. Because that would—Ew.” I make a face, and can’t believe I’m doing this. I feel so fake, but Samantha’s buying it.

“I know! That would be so weird. I mean, there’s a few rumours that Achilles is… Y’know…  And I thought you might… Well. Since you and Bri are completely uninterested in each other, like you claim? I mean, there’s more than a few rumours about her, too.”

I’m relieved for a heartbeat as she accepts my excuses, which is only replaced with dread. “What rumours?”

“Oh, well some people say that she’s interested in you, but some others think that she’s a…” Samantha pauses, biting her lip, and looks around again before whispering, _“Lesbian,”_ and with the way she says it, you would think that ‘lesbian’ is as horrifying as ‘werewolf’, ‘zombie’ or ‘the secret girlfriend of Jack, whose real girlfriend is sitting three seats away from us.’ “I mean, she hasn’t flirted with any boys other than you, and she gives us funny looks in the changing rooms.”

“Don’t be stupid,” I snap. Samantha looks surprised at my anger, frowning slightly and blinking a few times. I roll my eyes and sit up straight in my chair, ignoring her and looking up at the clock on the wall. Five minutes until the end of class.

“What’s your problem?” Samantha grumbles, and I turn to glare at her. She returns my dirty look with one of her own, and I immediately crumble. This could easily backfire on me and I need to backpedal, fast.

“Sorry, Sam. I just really care for Briseis. She talks to me about boys all the time, and probably gives girls funny looks because I’ve been talking to her about them.” I try to look sincere. She smiles, and I notice that she has dimples.

“Knew it,” she replies, and I think she’s lying. At least she’s being nice. “Well, there’s still the rumours about Achilles. I’d avoid him if I was you.”

“Oh, I will,” I say, and now I’m the one lying. Samantha returns to her work, and I wait until Ms Williams dismisses the class. I immediately grab my books and rush out of the classroom, heading to the library, where I know that Briseis will be waiting for me.

“Hey, you okay? You look a little tense. It’s free study, so you have ages to talk. If you want.” Bri, ever so wonderful, greets me with a hug when I arrive at the library. I let myself relax for a moment before pulling away from her embrace and sitting down on one of the two beanbags that she’s claimed, tipping my head back to look at the ceiling and groaning softly. Briseis, still in my peripheral vision, frowns in concern.

“Pat?”

I roll my head to the side to look at her. She tilts her head, and I smile at her. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She smiles back, settling down into the beanbag. It’s almost as big as her body. “You wanna talk or not?”

“Talk,” I admit, before wriggling around to get comfortable on the beanbag. I feel a finger poke my cheek, and I smile softly; I turn to her and finally spill. “Samantha was being weird about stuff.”

“Stuff… Stuff?” She raises an eyebrow, and I roll my eyes.

“Yes. Stuff-stuff. I managed to convince her that I was, well, but then she thought you and Achilles weren’t.”

“Samantha Hart thinks that I’m a lesbian?” Bri’s cheery face darkens, and I reach out to lazily poke her nose. “I mean, not that being gay is a bad thing, but—“

“She’s kind of a homophobic bitch?”

Bri seems much happier at this. “Yeah! Never liked her. But you do, so?”

“I was two seconds away from telling her, I swear.”

“What stopped you?”

“I dunno. I want to tell people, but I can’t… Say it.” I sigh softly. Briseis looks like she’s going to say something deep or stupid, so I shift subjects. “Anyway, I bumped into Achilles in the music centre.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. He was playing the violin. It was rather beautiful, actually. I don’t know what he was playing; Bach, or Vivaldi, maybe; but he played flawlessly, and he sung too.”

Briseis looks surprised. “I didn’t know that he played. He doesn’t take music classes and I’m certain that I would have noticed if he took lessons. The school would be all over it, too. Anyone over fifth grade in their instrument, wins competitions or performs externally gets hassled by the music department to join bands and such.”

“Yeah, well, he was real damn good.  Oh, he caught me listening, too. Gave me this whole ‘I’m not _that_ good’ speech and the invited me over to his house.”

“No! Seriously?” Briseis gasps. She grins, happy for me, and shoves me lightly. “No way! You gotta text me when you get home. If you don’t spend the night there.”

I roll my eyes, and she giggles, giving a little shriek as I lean over to shove her back. “Don’t be gross, Bri!”

“I’m not! You’re seventeen in August and Achilles had his birthday a bit ago. That’s way old, and you’re both legal anyway. People are already doing the do, Pat, we’re not ten year olds who’ve just been told how babies are made.”

“Yes, except that there is a big difference between me and Achilles doing the do and Pippa and Jack doing the do,” I mumble, quickly looking around to check that nobody else can possibly be eavesdropping.

Briseis, thankfully, drops her voice too. “Yeah, you don’t need condoms. Which makes it easier.”

“Christ. Do you need me to give you gay Sex Ed? There’s still STIs, so yes, condoms are good. Also, lube?”

“Oh, he probably has both of those somewhere. You do.”

“That was because you bet me $20 that I was too chicken to buy them and smuggle them into my room, and now I don’t know what to do with them.”

“Now you do.” She smiles at me, and I sigh.

“We’re not going to have sex. Or kiss, for that matter. He doesn’t even know that I’m gay, let alone that I’m into him.” I keep looking around to see if there are other people nearby, becoming more nervous as we keep discussing it, and Briseis finally picks up on how agitated I am.

“Fine. But you have to tell me everything afterwards.”

“As if I wasn’t planning on already doing that.” I smile at her, and she smiles back. We both settle down on our beanbags and quietly discuss Achilles and _The Walking Dead_ for the rest of the free and until the end of recess.

I don’t have any classes with Achilles on Mondays: After recess is Drama, followed by a double History, where we have a class discussion on the Gallipoli campaign in World War One and then move on to taking notes on the Treaty of Versailles in our textbooks. Helen is busy during lunchtime and can’t make it to training – I think a year nine boy managed to break his arm falling down the middle school staircase – so I end up being rather busy too, handing out water bottles to the team and yelling at the boys to take breaks, not to strain themselves, and to put sunscreen on. Unsurprisingly, half of them don’t pay any attention to me, but with Coach yelling at the boys to respect me and Achilles being an excellent role model by following my instruction without question, I’m pretty pleased with the team’s overall effort. I don’t get to talk to Achilles for the duration of lunchtime, but I catch him looking at me occasionally and giving the tiniest of waves.

At the end of the session, Achilles greets me with a smile. “Did you enjoy today’s session?”

“Yeah,” I reply, grinning back. “Thanks for the help.”

“No problem, but you’re the one who’s helping the team.” He turns around, waving at Coach - _Goodbye, see you on Wednesday –_ and I raise my hand in farewell too, before turning and walking with Achilles back to our lockers.

“Still, I wouldn’t be so involved if not for you.” I look up at him, and he turns his head to look at me too; he grins, bringing an arm up to casually sling around my shoulder. 

“Nonsense,” he says, with such a finalised tone that I don’t bother arguing. “What lessons do you have now?”

“English,” I explain, “followed by Science.”

“History,” he says, making a face. “Double. Learning about wars is so boring. Most of it is politics anyway. Nothing worth really fighting for.”

“What would you fight for, then?” I ask, grinning. “True love?”

“Something like that,” he agrees, and smiles at me just so that I feel a flush across my skin.

“I’ll see you after school?” I ask, my words coming quickly. “Nineteen Ashgrove?”

“That’s the one,” Achilles says, dropping his arm from my shoulder. “See you after school.” We smile at each other before parting ways.

The last two lessons of the day pass surprisingly quickly. Samantha sits next to me in English, but I honestly can’t be bothered chatting with her after what happened this morning. We end up ignoring each other for most of the lesson, only checking where the other is up to on the essay we’re writing. Biology ends up being rather interesting – we get to look at cells under a microscope, and I learn that plant cells are much more beautiful than animal cells – but I still feel a sense of relief as the bell rings for the end of the day. It takes a minute to pack away my microscope before I grab my books and laptop and wander back to my locker, quickly shoving things into my bag, saying goodbye to Briseis, and setting off down the main road. Ashgrove court is on a small hill, just past the bakery, so I’m surprised that I’ve never bumped into him before. His house would be a thirty minute walk away from mine, or maybe fifteen by bike if I really hurry.

I turn down Ashgrove court and start counting the houses; twenty eight, twenty six, twenty four… I cross the road to get to the odd-numbered houses. Twenty one, I count. Nineteen.

Nineteen Ashgrove is a large house, a five minute walk from the beach, and is set on the very top of the hill. It’s a two storey house, or quite possibly even three. The houses on the block looked squashed together, and they’re all so tall and _modern_ that I can’t tell how many stories they have by looking at the number of windows. There’s a balcony above me. I assume that’s Achilles’ parents room.

I cautiously walk down the driveway. The lawn is neatly trimmed and there’s a small variety of plants and flowers down the other side of it. I’m surprised that the house doesn’t have a fountain or something, although I guess there’s not enough room for one without it looking cluttered. Stepping onto the veranda, I walk up to the front door; wiping my feet on the mat before looking up, wondering if I should knock. I pause, and in that pause I spot the doorbell. Taking a deep breath, I raise my hand, and carefully but firmly press the little button.

I can hear the bell echo inside the house, so I don’t bother knocking. I drop my bag on the veranda and lean against the wall, waiting for the sound of footsteps approaching. They still haven’t come a full minute later, and just as I’m wondering if I’ve got the right house, I hear the crunch of gravel coming from behind.

“What are you doing here?” Achilles says from behind me, and I turn around and give a ‘what, me?’ look. “I thought you’d go back to your place first and ditch your bag and stuff.”

“Oh,” I reply. Now I understand why nobody answered the door – nobody was home. “Well, I guess I can go home—“

“No, never mind. You’re here now, you may as well stay.” Achilles drops his bag and unzips the top pocket, pulling out a pair of keys. I step aside, and he comes forward and unlocks the door, swinging his bag up onto his shoulder again before walking inside. I pick up my own bag and follow him. He closes the door and locks it again once I’m inside.

Achilles drops the keys in a nearby bowl and smiles at me before running up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I pause for a few seconds, admiring the stained glass bowl, and reach out to brush my fingers across the smooth surface.

“Patroclus!” Achilles hollers from upstairs. “Hurry up!”

“Coming!” I yell, and run upstairs after him.

“What took you?” Achilles grumbles, opening a nearby door and dumping his bag inside.

“Nothing,” I say, and as I stop dead as I look into Achilles’ room.

It’s large, sure, and the ceilings are a bit lower than the hallway’s, but it would only be a bit bigger than mine. There’s a large wardrobe, although I’m not sure what he would use it for, and the bed looks amazingly comfy. What gets me, though, is the huge glass door on the side wall, leading to a balcony. There’s a view of a few houses, but past that, there’s a clear shot of the sand dunes and the beach.

“Oh, wow,” I say, letting my bag slip from my shoulder and wandering over to press my hands against the glass. “Shit, this is pretty.”

“I suppose,” Achilles says from behind, and walks forward to join me, pressing his nose against the glass too. “My parents, their room is out the front. They get to see the sun rising over the suburbs. My room’s out the back, so I get to see the sun setting over the ocean. Here, let me…” He puts his hand on mine for a second, pulling me back from the glass, and he fumbles with the lock before sliding the window open. The salty sea breeze hits us instantly, ruffling out hair and getting up our noses.

I step outside, as does Achilles, and he half-closes the door behind him. I step to the edge, gripping onto the rail as I look down. The properly only has a small backyard with a washing line and a few fruit trees. I can see into the neighbour’s yard, too; a young child is on a swing, being pushed by her father. The kid points up to us, and both the child and the father waves. I wave back, awed, and look up to the ocean.

“It’s getting dark already,” I comment, briefly looking up to see where the sun is in the sky. “It’s almost four and it’s only June.”

“The winter solstice is soon, dumbass. And the sun doesn’t really set until six.” Achilles looks a little peeved to be outside in the wind, and I grin at his sour expression.

“Don’t you like winter?”

“Not really. Running isn’t particularly fun when it’s pouring. They’ve already had to postpone District Day this year - it was originally going to be last term. Remember that shitstorm we had back in April? They didn’t bother taking chances, and the best time after that was June. I have end of semester assignments piling up on top of exam revision, and it’s hard trying to train on top of that. It was easier in term one, when I didn’t have that sort of pressure.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that,” I say, thinking back to April. It had been mid-Autumn, and this massive storm had passed over the state. Power lines had been knocked down, trees had crushed homes, water pipes had burst, and almost a third of lower-lying homes had minor flooding. School had to be cancelled for almost a week, and teachers had freaked out and sent us about five emails each, stressing the importance of finishing assignments and giving updates on postponements for tests. It took over a month for electricity, gas and water to be reconnected to every household, and by that point, the situation had reached meme status. “That’s pretty shit. I can help you with your homework if you’d like. Food takes forever but it pretty simple, and I can give you a list of French vocab and phrases that you have to catch up on. Also, history is pretty standard.”

“Really?” Achilles asks, lighting up. “That’d be great, actually.”

“No problem,” I say, smiling. I don’t think I’ll find any issues with being around Achilles more. “Do you have food? I’m kind of hungry.”

“Oh, yeah, duh,” he says, grinning sheepishly. “We can grab a box of shapes or something downstairs.”

“I don’t like barbecue,” I say immediately, and he gasps.

“Un-Australian!” He announces, and I laugh as he shoves me. We both go back inside, him shutting and locking the balcony window, and we run downstairs and into the kitchen. Achilles still insists on eating his barbeque shapes, so I grab a packet of microwave popcorn and heat it up while Achilles wanders into the lounge.

“What do you wanna do?” He yells from around the corner. “We have a Wii here, and I have an Xbox and a PlayStation in my room.”

“Spoiled,” I mumble.

“EXCUSE ME?”

“Nothing!” I exclaim, and a hand appears at the doorway as Achilles gives me the middle finger.

“There’s also a Blu-Ray player. We have, like, a hundred DVDs.”

“Do you have Foxtel?” I ask, just as the microwave beeps. I take the bag out and open it a little, opening a few drawers in search of a bowl.

“Yeah, why?”

“Of fucking course you have Foxtel.”

“Oh so first you’ve got a problem with barbeque shapes, and now you don’t like Foxtel?” I hear a cabinet door opening and Achilles shuffling through what’s probably a row of DVDs. “Do you have _any_ national pride?”

“Foxtel isn’t a national treasure. It’s just for rich sporty people.”

“Rude,” Achilles whines, and I smirk. I come across a large plastic blue bowl, and I quickly tip the popcorn into the bowl, throwing the packet into a bin I found a few drawers ago. “Well, we also have Netflix, and I swear to god, if you don’t like Netflix—“

“I have Netflix too, idiot. It’s cheaper than Stan and Presto and has, like, fifteen hours of David Attenborough on it.”

Achilles suddenly stops whatever he’s doing so that he can stick his head around the doorway and give me a judgemental look. “Are you one of those documentary nerds?”

“Maybe,” I say, grinning, and he rolls his eyes and returns to his DVDs.

“Oh, here we go,” he says, and the ruffling noise stops. I pick up the popcorn bowl and grab two Cokes from the fridge and carry them into the lounge, only to see a smirking Achilles holding _Mario Kart 8._

“Jesus, you want to ruin our friendship already?”

“Loser of each game does twenty pushups and overall loser does fifty.”

“Half it for me and you have a deal,” I say, sitting down on the couch and placing the popcorn and Cokes on the coffee table infront of me.

“Deal,” he agrees, and turns his Wii-U on before inserting the disc. He connects the remotes and checks that the wrist straps are still intact before passing me the player two remote. “You need a steering wheel?”

“What, do you?” I smirk, raising my eyebrows, and he scowls and sits down next to me.

“No,” he mumbles.

“Uh huh.”

He gives me a judgemental look as he selects the game from the disc menu, and I take a handful of popcorn. We bicker as we select the characters – he ends up picking Yoshi, and I pick Luigi – and as we pick the karts and difficulty.

“150cc,” I demand.

“No! 50cc.” He scowls and picks it, and I lean over and press B so it undoes his choice.

“100? Come on.”

“Fine, but we’re on teams. I’m on red. You go blue.”

“You’re so boring,” I tease, and he elbows me. We pick the tracks – I convince him to start with Maple Treeway after him whining about picking something easier - but we both decide that we should do Rainbow Road last. We’re halfway through our fifth game when Achilles’ father, Peleus, arrives home. I’ve only had to do ten pushups, having lost one game, and he’s done sixty. We’re on the third lap, so we ignore him for the moment; yelling and shoving each other as we race for the finish line.

“OH, bullshit!” Achilles yells as I win again, and I have to put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing.

“Achilles!” Peleus grumbles, and Achilles grins sheepishly.

“Sorry, father. How was work?” He hops off the couch and wanders over to greet his father, and I awkwardly wait for him to return. They chat for a while, and Peleus eventually asks about me.

“Who’s this boy?”

“Oh, this is Patroclus. He’s a good friend of mine from school. I invited him over after he listened to me practice for my violin exam tomorrow.”

I’d forgotten about that. Whoops.

“Hello, Mr Katsaros,” I greeted, smiling at him from my place on the couch.

“Peleus, and hello, Patroclus,” he greets. He seems tired, and Achilles urges him to go up to his room. He does, and Achilles joins me back on the couch. There’s a pause for a few moments as we listen to his dad walk up the stairs, and I take a moment to admire him; the way the light falls on his cheeks, the curve of his eyelashes, his full lips. I feel a warmth spreading in my stomach, and I bite my lip, looking away from him.

“When will your mother come home?” I ask.

“I do not know,” he says, and sounds lost in thought. “She usually comes home sometime after five.” We both look up at a clock on the nearby wall, and watch as the second hand the second hand ticks past twelve, making seven past five in the evening.

“You’ve texted your dad?”

“Yes. He said I can stay as long as I want.”

“You wanna stay for dinner?”

I think of the stories of Achilles mother, and how she’s rumoured to be as cold-hearted as the villains that she plays in television and movies.

“I think my mother won’t be back for a while,” Achilles mumbles, as if he knows what my hesitation is for. “She’s coming back from Melbourne and the flight might be delayed.”

“I think I might stay, then,” I say carefully, and look up to see him smiling at me. I have the strongest urge to kiss him, suddenly, and the warmth that I felt before suddenly comes back all at once.

“You still have the pushups,” I mumble, trying to distract both myself and him from my sheer embarrassment. He grins awkwardly, and gets up off the couch to do his pushups. I throw pieces of popcorn at him to try lighten the mood, and by the time that he’s finished his pushups, lost at rainbow road, and done another fifty, we’re laughing again and I’ve somehow managed to stop my embarrassment from outing me.

Afterwards, Achilles turns off the Wii and we bring the remainder of the popcorn, shapes and Coke upstairs. I sit on his bed while he grabs his violin case and music from his schoolbag. He never actually said that he’d play for me when he invited me over, but it was implied, and as he told Peleus, he has an exam tomorrow afternoon. He closes his eyes as he plays, having already memorised the piece. I would admire him again – he does look beautiful as he plays, standing up straight and letting his hair fall over his eyes – but I’m too worried about the rest of my body showing its appreciation to bother. Instead, I stare out the window. It’s half past five, now, and as Achilles predicted, the sun’s starting to set.

Peleus interrupts some while later and tells us that we can order our own pizza, since he can’t be bothered cooking and even if Achilles mother, Thetis, arrives early, she’ll be too exhausted to do anything but sleep. We gleefully order a pizza each, as well as garlic bread, and pay extra to get it delivered. Despite it being a ten minute jog to the nearest Pizza Hut, Achilles insists that it’s too cold to bother. Achilles has a TV in his room, and we end up watching _101 Dalmatians_ as we eat. It’s perhaps half an hour until the movie ends, at quarter past seven, that Peleus opens the door.

“Thetis is here,” he tells Achilles.

“Oh,” Achilles says, and smiles at me. “I won’t be long. You can keep watching the movie while I’m gone.” He gets up and follows Peleus outside, closing the door, and I hear him running down the stairs. It’s an aching ten minutes before the door opens again and Achilles slips back into the room.

“How is she?” I ask.

“She is well,” he replies. “Normally she would wait for the weekend before visiting me, but she hasn’t seen me in a few months. She’s booked a hotel in the city and she’ll be staying for five weeks before flying back to Melbourne.”

“A hotel?” I frown. “Isn’t she staying with you and Peleus?”

“Oh, no. She doesn’t live with us.” Achilles falls silent, and it’s such a surprising truth to absorb that I don’t immediately question it. What follows, though, surprises me even more. “She wants to meet you, Patroclus.”

“Huh?”

“She should be downstairs.”

“Wait—Why?”

He shrugs, and I get even more anxious. “I don’t know. I don’t really invite many people over, I suppose. Just go talk to her.”

“I—Okay.” I get up and give him one last quizzical look before walking out of the room and downstairs. A woman sits at the dining table; her dark hair is long and loose down her back, a stark comparison to her luminous and pale skin. She’s taller than me, taller than any woman I had seen, and she smells of sea water laced with dark brown honey.

“Patroclus?” she asks, and her voice is sharp and cold.

“Yes.” My reply feels too short, too awkward, my voice tiny. “That is me.”

“Are you good friends with my son?”

“I—I suppose, yes.”

“My son, Achilles, he is destined for greatness. He will be the best of his generation.” She looks at me, almost accusingly, as if daring me to challenge her. I do not. “Do not get in his way.”

I do not know how to reply, so I do not speak. She stands up, looking down at me.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Good." She takes a step closer, as if to touch me; I flinch, and she narrows her eyes. "Achilles should pick better friends," she says, carelessly, as if to herself. She turns, taking her bag as she does, and leaves, the front door ratting behind her. 

I sit there for a good extra minute, trying to comprehend that she said. What surprises me is that I do not doubt her prediction for Achilles' future. I’ve seen Achilles run, watched him slip through a crowd like a fish and be far ahead of the kid who comes second. I’ve seen him at long jump, watched him challenge himself to jump to the other side of the sandpit and make it. I’ve seen him throw, witnessed him tossing a javelin or discus with unmeasurable skill, the object in question flying in a perfect arc and touching the ground far enough that by the time that I have collected it, the rest of the team has had their turn.

Achilles will undoubted be an Olympian. He will break records and beat champions and be remembered in history books forever.

But athletes have families. They have wives, children and friends, and manage to sustain those relationships alongside their sporting career. There might be no chance of me becoming Achilles’ lover, and maybe our friendship will crumble. But I’m not letting Achilles’ mother decide who her son should be friends with, no matter how powerful she may be.

“Patroclus?”

I turn around, and force a smile as I see Achilles at the top of the stairs. He looks concerned, and quickly runs downstairs to cup my face in his hands. He’s taller than me by a few centimetres, and I have to tilt my head back to look at him this close.

“You look spooked,” he says gently. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, my smile relaxing into something more genuine. Achilles grins and drops one hand to his side, bringing the other up to ruffle my hair.

“What’d she talk to you about?”

“Some bullshit about me holding you down.”

“Sorry.” Achilles looks rather guilty because of this, and I shove him lightly.

“It’s your mum, not you.”

“She wouldn’t be mean to you if not for me—“

“Achilles, stop being stupid.”

He shoved me back, and when we start pushing each other and scuffling about. He quickly gets me into a headlock, and I laugh; Achilles laughs and grins too, and lets go of me.

“You should go home,” he advises. “The sun set a few hours ago.”

I look out a window. He’s right – it’s already pretty dark. “Yeah, I’ve got homework.”

“You okay walking home alone?”

“Yeah.” I shrug. “I just gotta get my bag.” I smile at him before running up the stairs, pulling on my shoes and swinging my bag up onto my shoulder.

Achilles is still waiting for me once I’m downstairs with my bag. He unlocks the front door and holds it open for me; I give a little wave, mumble a ‘see you tomorrow’ and start my journey back home.

Another week passes, and training gets more aggressive. I tell Bri everything about Achilles’ house - except meeting Thetis. I don’t particularly feel like repeating what she said to me, and I have a feeling that Briseis would immediately take a disliking to Achilles and his mother. Briseis hating Achilles is honestly the last thing I need right now.

It’s six in the morning next Monday when I wake up to a loud buzzing noise. Swearing, I grope for my phone, and then let out a groan as I pick it up and read the caller ID.

I take the call, and hold it to my mouth. “Fuck off, dickhead.”

“Mornin’ gorgeous,” Achilles greets, his voice sweet and cheerful. “Where’s your spare?”

“Uh?”

“Spare key.”

“Under the…. The…. Plant. Pot… Plant?”

“Which one? Wait. Hush. I’ve got this. Oh!” I hear a scraping noise, and Achilles gives an _aha!_ as he spots the key.“Found it! You now have thirty seconds to not be naked. I’m coming.” He bursts into laughter and hangs up. I groan again, and toss my phone onto the carpet. It takes Achilles a good minute and a half to get inside the house, creep down to my room and open the door, and by that point I’ve rolled out of bed and swapped my pyjama pants for my school track pants.

Achilles is in his sports uniform; his hair is ruffled from the wind and his eyes are gleaming with excitement and mischief. “Patroclus, hello,” he mumbles, dropping his bags in a corner and picking up my sports shirt and tossing it to me.

“Remind me,” I grumble, pulling on the shirt, “why the fuck you’re dragging me out of bed at six in the morning?”

“Remember when you agreed to join me on my morning runs?”

“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, sighing, and pull on my shoes and socks.

“You don’t need to pack your bag. We’ll run and come back and then go to training.”

“For further reference, I will not get up for you before six. Ever.”

“Uh huh. Hurry up.”

“Food?”

“We can eat later.”

I glare at him, and he just grins more. My shoes now tied, I stand up, and creep out into the kitchen. I’m utterly amazed that my father hasn’t woken up yet, but just in case he does and I’m not there, I find a post-it and a pen and make a vague note about going for a run with Achilles. Achilles himself is waiting for me outside when I’m finished, and I quickly and quietly meet him outside and shut and lock the door, stuffing my keys and phone into my pocket.

“Ready?” he asks, and I sigh and agree.

Achilles keeps pace with me as I jog, thankfully, and doesn’t tease me too much when I slow down to a walk. We don’t talk, and in part I think I’m happy about that – it’s not just that I’m tired, but there’s this immense quiet that’s settled over the suburbs and it would feel odd to disrupt it. The sun is only just starting to rise, a soft glow lighting up rooftops, and even the birds are asleep. Achilles steps out onto the road, and I cautiously follow – we keep to the right, so we can see when a car is coming, but any car would be loud in this deathly calm.

The road dips down as we wander closer to the sea, and the salty breeze slowly gets thicker. We cross through a few streets and an empty patch of grass before finally making it to the edge of the suburbs. Sand meets the road and a small wooden fence helps keep people and cars off the dunes; snakes hide under the sand, and children learn at a young age to keep to the well-trodden paths. There’re a few bottles scattered around, probably from beach parties, I’d guess, but Achilles still takes a moment to pull off his shoes and socks. I do the same, and we stuff our socks into our shoes and hold them in one hand as we walk down to the harder sand at the beach itself.

Seagulls cawing are the first sounds to break the silence. There’s one, two, three above us, flying with the breeze and occasionally swooping down to perch on the sand. The crashing of the waves is the next sound to reach me, and I break into a run, jumping on Achilles’ back. He lets out a yell and topples over, and I laugh before shrieking as he rolls over and pins me to the sand.

“You dick,” Achilles grumbles, and I grin. He lets go of me and rolls over, his head next to mine and our feet brushing against each other.

The clouds above us are a dull purple, and the sky is this wondrous gradient of blue fading to pink. I can just see the outline of the sun over the suburbs, poking out behind rooftops. I realize that I’ve now seen both the sunrise and sunset with Achilles – I turn my head and tell him so.

“Huh,” is all he says. “Guess that makes you special, or something.”

“Or something,” I agree, and smile. And yet, Thetis's words echo in the back of my mind. "Your mother," I start, uncertain. "she wants you to go to the Olympics."

"Yes," he says; bored, almost, but he face twists with embarrassment. "Did she tell you that I was too good for you?"

"Yes." 

"I'm sorry, Pat. I--" he sighs, as if suddenly uncomfortable. "My mother she-- You're good enough, okay?"

"Yeah?"

"Of course."

Not even the sunrise could shine brighter than Achilles and I.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its been a year since c.2 omg?? i have no excuses for this being late im sorry my guys, im not 100% on this but im like 98% ok w it so i hope u can make up for the 2% lysm, I'll try get c.4 out before the end of october, promise x

District Day is finally upon us, and Achilles Katsaros _cannot_ stay still. There’s seventeen boys in the senior track and field team, thirteen in the girl’s senior, and there’s thirty-one in the middle school mixed. Adding another dozen students that aren’t in the extracurriculars but still excel, as well as half a dozen teachers, there’s two school buses in use to transport the lot of us. The drive is half an hour, and it only takes a few minutes for most kids to pull out their phones or to start shoving and chatting with each other.

Not Achilles, however. He’s sitting up the front – _“motion sickness,”_ he tells me – and I’ve taking the window seat next to him. He has a small backpack on his knees that he’s bouncing up and down, his eyes flicking all over the place. He’s agitated, I can tell. I’ve plugged my earphones into my phone, and I’m staring out the window as I listen to the playlist I’ve selected. It’s only when Achilles accidentally stomps on my foot in his anxiety that I startle, bumping him with my elbow and giving my earphones a sharp yank that pulls them into my lap.

“Shit, sorry,” he says, giving me an awkward and forced grin.

“Why are you so nervous?” I grumble. “You’re going to come first in your races, you know that. You have no reason to be apprehensive.”

“I’m not apprehensive.”

His hair is freshly washed and wild, strands falling onto his face. His brows are furrowed, his forehead creased. His lips, so soft that I was damn convinced he moisturised them, were pressed together, the corners dipped down ever so slightly.

“Here,” I say, sighing, and pass him an earbud. He looks at me, a little startled, and takes it, pausing to read the little ‘R’ on it before squishing it into his right ear. I pass him my phone, opening the music app so he can scroll through my selection. Achilles’ face lights up at this, and now it’s my turn to frown, wondering what he thinks of my taste.

“Why do you have so many classical pieces? And pop songs?” He squints down at the screen. “Katy Perry?”

“Oh—Um. Bri downloaded it?”

Achilles’ grin only widens. “Who’s Sham 69? You have four albums by them. Holy shit, is this the entire Beatles and ABBA collection? No _fucking_ way.”

I elbow his ribs, and he snickers, scrolling through the selection for another minute. My eyes widen and I clench my teeth as I see him flicking past a few songs - some recommendations and others I’d found on my own - that can out me if he pays close enough attention. However, if he notices them, I somehow don’t pick up on it, because he just kept scrolling until he reaches the bottom and decides to hover his thumb over the _playlist_ button.

“No, no nope,” I immediately yelp, hitting his hand. He raises his eyebrows at me, questioning my embarrassment, and after a second of thought sticks out his tongue.

“You’re the sort of soppy loser to make playlists about your crush,” he mocks, settling down on my Rihanna collection.

Well… He isn’t wrong.

Achilles starts humming as he listens to my music. His feet are still restless and his eyes are still darting every which way, but his hands are loose on his bag and his shoulders have relaxed. I smile, matching his relaxed posture. This is more like the Achilles I’m used to. Even though his mouth is turned up into an ever so gentle smile, his eyes are focused, making him look both careless and like he’s calculating how long he’ll be able to hold the worries of the world upon his shoulders. Or, more likely, how much he’s going to beat everyone in his race by.

I can’t help but feel sorry for those suckers.

An hour and a full album later, the buses pull up at the venue. It’s at the local racecourse, except instead of horses racing today, its teenagers. Starting and finishing places have been marked by mats and by spray paint in the grass; there are tents with sausages cooking, baked goods being sold; banners in the grandstands where schools have set up a base camp. A small army of busses are in the parking lot already, having dropped off their students and teachers. Reminders and notices are being read out over the PA system – _Hello, welcome to the venue… First race starts at nine o’clock… Boys’ open, one hundred metre._ Flags and banners are everywhere. Achilles looks positively gleeful as I wrap my earphones around my phone, sliding them into my pocket. He grabs his backpack and slings it over his shoulder, his feet tapping all the more impatiently.

Coach, as the head of Kingsdale’s Sports Department, is head of the school’s team this year. He stands up at the front of the bus, a first aid backpack slung over one shoulder, elbows resting on the two seats between him.

“Alright, guys, this is it. This day, as delayed as it has been, is finally here. Looks clear enough, weather forecast says there’s only a slight chance of rain. However, it is cold, and you lot will hopefully be sweating. Unfortunately, this does mean that you might get sick. Look after yourselves. Additionally! Even on an autumn day like this, you might get burnt. Use sunscreen, stay under shade when possible. If you’re not involved in an event, try to stick to base camp. And for God’s sake, listen to the announcements and pay attention to what time your events are at. Good luck, you lot, and try your best!”

The chatter starts up again once Coach finishes his speech, and Achilles can’t be happier. Once the teachers all check they have everything and briefly chat to the driver, they step off the bus. One by one, students slowly trickle off too, helping Coach and the teachers with the school’s banners, clipboards and medical equipment. Everything seems to be picked up when Achilles and I take our first steps onto the gravel of the car park, so we follow the pack to the stands. Kingsdale has managed to reserve a spot right next to the track, beside a few other private co-ed schools. Two of the senior girls - Dee and Kayla, I think, from the year above – hang up the school banner, and students rush to teachers, double-checking their event times.

“How many do you have?” I ask Achilles as he dumps his bag down on a seat a few rows back, letting himself fall down into the one besides it. I follow his lead, turning my head to watch him sigh, tipping his own head to look up at the sky.

“Events? I’m doing all the races I’m eligible for in Opens. So, that’s, what… Five? There’s the one, two, four and eight hundred metre, and then there’s the three thousand cross-country. One hundred is at nine, just as the PA guy’s saying. So that’s in… Fifteen minutes?” He gives the clouds a mocking pout.

“I think I have to go check out the medical tent,” I say. “I mean, there is a reason why I’m here and not attending lessons.”

“Am I not a good enough reason for you to skip classes?” Achilles drawls, slowly rolling his head to the side and giving his signature grin, making my stomach give a sudden twist.

“The school doesn’t seem to think so.” I look at his eyes, at how the blonde of his lashes only highlights the flecks of gold in his green irises. At how they are narrowed, calculating, like a cat’s.

“Do you?” He asks, his lips curving up.

“Think you’re worth skipping class for? Perhaps.” My skin prickles under his gaze, and he watches me for a few more moments before returning his gaze to the track with a yawn, following the teachers as they rush to and fro.

“You’ll regret saying that. One day, I will ask you to skip school with me, and we can run down to the beach while everybody else studies.”

“I’ll place a picnic basket in my locker, then,” I mock. “I’ll pack pink lemonade and blueberry muffins.”

Achilles looks absolutely horrified at the prospect, and I tip my head to laugh. Moments later, he punches my shoulder, making me laugh harder.

“Stop!” Achilles snaps, and I can only take a single look at his face before letting out another peal of laughter; he just looks so horribly offended. _“Patroclus!”_

“I thought you were over that,” I wheeze. “You _fool.”_

“How dare you call _me_ a fool,” he scoffs, giving me another shove; lighter, this time, and when I look to him, his eyes are shining. “Clearly, you’re the fool here.”

“The fool that has to tend to any kid who has the misfortune to trip or get heatstroke.”

It’s with a roll of his eyes that Achilles gives up. “Fine! Abandon me to my boredom.”

“Maybe give the other boys a head start,” I advise, standing up and reaching out to poke his nose as I walk past him, making him scrunch up his face. “Makes it more interesting.”

“I’ll consider it,” he says, and I smile to myself as I step over the rows of seats to reach the teachers, quickly notifying them of where I’m going before I push past an all-girl’s school that’s just arrived and take the three steps I need to leave the grandstands.

The medical tent is smack bang in the middle of the racecourse, a large marquee tent just past the roses that ring the inside of the track. There’s a large red cross printed on the white of the tent, and as I round the corner I’m surprised to find that a student, a boy who couldn’t be any older than fourteen or fifteen, is already sitting in a plastic chair, an ice pack applied to his ankle. He looks up, and, seeing my shocked expression, scowls. A curl of black hair falls across his forehead, reminding me of Achilles, and I look up from the boy, spotting a middle aged man with curling hair rustling through a box of bandages on the paved ground.

“Hi?” I ask, suddenly feeling awkward. “Uh, I’m Patroclus, from Kingsdale. Year eleven. I’m here to help out?”

“Oh?” The man stands up, putting a hand to his back, and turns to look at me, smiling. A jagged scar runs down one of his legs, a deep and ugly scar that goes from ankle to calf. “That’s awfully considerate of you. Were your teachers too busy?”

“I’m an assistant for the senior boy’s track and field team, actually. Volunteering to gain some medical experience. Do you, uh, need help with that?” I motion to the bandages, and he steps aside.

“They’re all over the place. Could you check what we have? I have this,” he hands me a clipboard, “—and if you could check off the stock, that’d be great. If you could also check up on Ethan’s ankle, too, please. I need to go check up with a few schools who haven’t passed me their medical information. Oh, and I suppose you'll need this.” He digs around in one of the supply boxes and hands me an armband, green with a small white cross, the universal sign of first aid.

I nod, smiling, and take the clipboard and armband from him. The man flashes me a grateful smile and leaves, leaving me standing there awkwardly, my only company the brooding dark-haired boy.

I slip the armband on and place the clipboard on one of the two temporary beds that have been set up, bending down to pick up the bandage box, putting it next to the clipboard. I sort through the bandages, rolling up the few that have become undone, and I count the rest, taking a moment to thank the man for attaching a pen to the clipboard as I record the amount. I slide the box of bandages under the bed, pulling out and picking up the box next to it. This one has two first-aid kits in it, and I pop the first one open, checking everything’s in place. It’s easy checking off everything on the clipboard, as it looks like everything was checked beforehand anyway, as there’s nothing missing.

Setting the clipboard back down on the bed, I turn to look at the kid with the injured ankle – Ethan, as I think the man said. He’s ignored me the entire time I’ve been here, and as soon as the man left, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, immediately launching some game or another. He frowns down at the screen in his hands, and I get the vibe that he’s not the sort to smile much anyway.

“What’d you do?” I ask, and Ethan startles a little, immediately jabbing the power button on his phone and turning to give me a deathly look.

“Tripped,” He mumbles.

I raise an eyebrow in disbelief. “Already?”

Evidently, the accident was rather embarrassing, as Ethan simply gave me an even dirtier look. The ice pack slides off his ankle as he shifts his leg, and I sigh and walk to where he’s sitting, squatting down next to the kid’s ankle.

“Alright. Does it hurt?” I pick up the ice pack and look at him, trying to catch his eye.

“Not much.”

“Can you feel it? Try moving it gently.” Technically, I haven’t been taught this, but it’s general enough that I can do it without much thought. Ethan carefully rolls his ankle. My eyes flicker between the ankle and his face, and it doesn’t look to pain him. I run him through a few other gentle exercises, before standing up and asking him to do the same. Ethan slips the phone back into his pocket and slowly stands up, testing his balance before letting his weight rest evenly. Cautiously, he takes a few steps, and I grin.

“Feeling better?” an older voice asks, and we both look up to see that the man from before has returned.

“Yeah,” says Ethan. “I think it’ll be fine, now.”

“Excellent! You can return to your school. I wouldn’t advise running for the next hour or two, at least until you can walk without it bothering you at all. Er, Patrick, is it? You can explain what happened to Ethan’s teachers.”

“Patroclus,” I explained quickly. “And, uh, your name?”

“Odysseus,” he said curtly. “Thank you for checking the supplies. Hurry, now, the first event is due to start any moment now.”

I remember Achilles, and quickly pass Odysseus the ice pack before walking out of the tent, looking back to see Ethan slowly following me. I hold out a hand in an indication of help, and he gives me the same disgusting look he gave me before Odysseus entered the tent, so I give up and let him hobble ahead of me. We walk onto the track to see the first boys’ heat not fifteen metres in front of us, warming up for their race.

“Achilles!” I say, and though I don’t yell it, Achilles turns a heartbeat later. He lights up at the sight of me, and I wave. He waves in return before turning back to the race, reaching up above his head in one final stretch, his shirt riding up his back for a brief second. I notice, also, that his wild hair is now tied back with a small band of leather, something that would look silly on any boy but him. There’s a yell for the boys to step up to the line. I watch as they crouch down, their fingertips brushing the grass, and then the shotgun is fired. Achilles moves ahead of the group with ease. Like a javelin, he flies straight and true, and I don’t need to be at the end of the track to know he wins. I watch for a few more moments before turning back to Ethan. He stopped when he noticed I had paused, and he’s watching me with a sense of bored curiosity.

“Coming?” he asks, and I scowl at his smug face before following him.

“You gay or something?” Ethan asks me as I catch up and take the steps up to the grandstands, moments behind him.

“Wh— _No—_ What the _fuck?_ How old are you?”

“Fifteen. Really?”

“What school are you from?”

“Saint Gabriel Boys.” He gives me a funny look, and I push past him, making a point of bumping his shoulder. “Hey—“

But I don’t give a damn what Ethan has to say, and I shoulder past school after school and eventually find the small cluster of boys that is Saint Gabriel’s. A tall, dark-skinned man seems to be in charge of the bunch, and I quickly check that Ethan has followed me before marching up to him.

“Excuse me,” I say, and he looks down at me. “Your student, Ethan, was admitted to the medical tent earlier today with an ankle injury. The injury was iced for a while, and he’s fine now.”

Without turning around, I could tell that Ethan was behind me. The head of Saint Gabriel’s looks at me, clearly confused, and then at Ethan. “Why is a Kingsdale student looking after one of my athletes?”

“I’m volunteering for the day. Medical experience,” I quickly dismiss, rushing to deliver my news. “The medic on hand recommended that your student sit out for the day. You can find him in the middle of the track if you wish to discuss this with him.” I make a vague motion towards the white of the medical tent that’s peeping up over the roses.

The coach looks to where I motioned and gives me another suspicious look, but clearly can’t be bothered arguing. “Thank you,” he says. “For looking after my student.”

I force a smile and turn, leaving. Ethan’s words are still stuck in my head, and as I pass the Kingsdale stands, Achilles bag remains abandoned, so I immediately go to Plan B.

“Pick up, goddamn,” I grumble, mumbling curses at my phone. I’ve slipped behind the grandstands and immediately dialled the first person I trust with anything. It goes to voicemail, and I swear before hanging up and dialling again. Six rings later, I’ve almost given up when the call is answered.

“Patroclus?” comes Briseis’ voice, flooded with concern. “Pat, what is it? I risked my ass sneak out of class for this, holy shit this better be good.”

“I—Bri,” I choke, closing my eyes and taking a shuddering breath. “Fuck, I-I’m sorry.”

There’s a pause before Bri speaks next. “Achilles?”

“No,” I say, strained. “Well—“

“I will cut his—“

 _“Bri!_ No. Just.” I take another breath. “I shouldn’t be so sensitive about this, should I?”

Another few moments pass as she takes a moment to realize what I’m talking about. “Jesus, Pat, here? _Now?_ Did someone say something?” I fall silent, and she takes it as a yes _._ “P, you have every right to be sensitive about it. But— God, pick and choose your moments? It’s just past nine on a Friday. I’ll shout you a hot chocolate tonight. We can watch cheesy romance and eat brownies. Remember what you said when that boy teased me about my skin colour?”

I sigh, kicking a nearby Pepsi can, one of the numerous littered on this small patch of neglected grass, and let go of my anger. “To beat him up, hopefully.”

“To treat myself, and to be proud of myself. Are you ashamed of loving Achilles?”

It sounds so real hearing her speak it, but I think back to a thousand small moments with him, of his hair, his eyes, his lips. Of his happiness making me forget everything about myself. Of his poise, his grace, his unpredictability that I’d come to understand. “No,” I mutter, and bite my lip.

“Are you ashamed of liking a boy?”

I sigh. “Maybe.”

“Well, your gayness, embraced or not, doesn’t affect your medical capabilities. Has Achilles won anything yet?”

“Yeah. Just one race. The hundred.”

“The hundred metres and the heart of my best friend Patroclus,” Briseis scoffs, and I roll my eyes. “Okay, loser, good luck. I gotta get back to class.”

“Thanks,” I manage before she hangs up. I slide my phone back into my pocket, sighing, and pause to listen to the cheers coming from the other side of the stands. The younger heats of the boys’ hundred metres are currently in progress. Odysseus undoubtedly would have assumed I’d gone back to the Kingsdale students by now. “Fuck,” I mumble, and take another deep breath before slowly walking out from under the stands, making my way around the edge of it. Sure enough, there’s another lot of boys lined up ready to run, and I quickly make my way across the track before the race starts.

Although he doesn’t say anything about it, Odysseus seems pleasantly surprised to see me again. He gives another smile and asks me to tend to another kid that’s appeared since I left, a senior girl that fell over in her race and scraped her knee and elbow. She’s a great deal friendlier than Ethan, and I quickly learn that she’s called Zoe, she’s a year older than me, and she has a boyfriend called Cameron, who goes to my school. She tells me about her races, how she hoped to make it to Nationals, but wasn’t so sure now since she fell in the two hundred metre – the event she times best in. There’s a steady trickle of students that come into the tent over the day, with scrapes and twists and one kid with a broken arm, who has to be taken away in an ambulance. Odysseus and I split the work, although it’s often that I end up tending to the kids while he goes off to chat to officials and school teachers. By the midmorning, the sun has well and truly come out, and I start waving sunscreen at any student that passes by. It’s noon by the time my stomach starts growling, and Odysseus kicks me out of the medical tent, demanding I take a ‘well-deserved’ break.

I have to be careful while walking over the track, now, as the races have progressed through to the eight hundred metres. Achilles, being in the top age group for each race, has finished all but one of his events. The three kilometre run has a separate path plotted out, dipping into the trees behind the racetrack. It’s the main event of the day, and I know many of the Kingsdale runners have purposely saved their energy for it.

In the grandstands, the lines between schools have blurred. Students have strayed far and wide, hanging out on the stands in small groups or large ones on the grass, next to where the food tents are selling chips, doughnuts and sausages. I don’t even have to arrive at the Kingsdale section of the stands before I realize Achilles isn’t there, nor is his bag. Pulling out my phone, I dial his number, and wait for him to pick up.

“Hello,” he answers, picking up on the third ring. “What did you think of Avery? Got sent over your way a bit after eleven.”

“He doesn’t like you all that much, considering he thought he was going to win only to find himself with a mouthful of grass moments later, and you being crowned winner.”

“He’s so overdramatic,” Achilles scoffs. “Where are you?”

“At the Kingsdale stands. I’m on break for a bit.”

“I’m over by the other end of the rose gardens. There’s this brilliant patch of grass that has your name all over it. Could you get me some food?”

I roll my eyes and hang up on him, digging into my back pocket to grab my wallet as I wander over to the food tents. I buy doughnut for myself and a small packet of Pringles for Achilles, as well as a bottle of lemonade. It doesn’t take long for me to find him, lounging on the grass on the opposite side of the track, leaves in his rumpled hair and a very satisfied smile plastered all over his face.

Achilles gives a soft grunt as I toss the Pringles onto his stomach, tilting his head back to pout at me as I sit down next to his head.

“If you just tie back your hair when you run, why don’t you just cut it short?” I ask, tearing open the brown paper bag and taking a bite of my doughnut, sprinkles spilling down into the bag and onto the grass below.

“I look quite silly with short hair,” he quips in return, peeling open the lid of the Pringles and fishing out a few chips. “I have family photos of when I was younger. You can come over tonight and see them for yourself if you wish.”

“Nah. Friday nights are Bri’s, although you’re both welcome to come over mine instead. We can get takeout Chinese and ice cream and study.”

 _“Again?_ These exams don’t mean that much, you know. Wait until year twelve, then it gets rough.”

“Just yesterday you were complaining about how totally unprepared you were,” I point out, and text Briseis asking if Achilles can butt into our plans, again. “Doesn’t your mum want you to go to that fancy sports University in, what, Queensland?”

This is how it is, now. There is very little time anymore that I’m not with Achilles or Briseis, and most of the time I’m not with either of them is spent messaging or calling one of them. With two more weeks of term left, everyone is starting to panic about the upcoming exams, and nowadays time with them is usually spent studying. Achilles has also quite warmed to the strong personality of Briseis, despite the rather reserved nature that she adopted while around him. Bri texts back shortly after, and I roll my eyes at her response.

_As long as he pays for ice cream ;)_

“You know, I don’t care if Briseis doesn’t want me there,” Achilles says with an air of carelessness, watching my face closely. “She is your friend.”

“And you mine,” I retort, but I know the point he’s trying to get at. Or maybe even another one. “We’re not dating.”

“I never said that.”

“Do you think we are?”

He sits up, looks me dead in the eye. I don’t dare blink or look away.

“…No,” he says gently. “No, I don’t think so.”

I sigh, letting myself flop down onto the grass of the oval, one of my hands on the brown paper bag and the other brushing against a stray leaf. Achilles falls down onto the grass next to me, and I feel his hand brush my own. I bite my lip, and slowly reach out – but he suddenly jerks his hand away, causing my cheeks to flush.

“Do you want to come over this weekend, then, instead?”

“Yes,” I say. “Sunday?”

There’s a rattle and a crunch as Achilles grabs his Pringles again, and I get butted on my ear as he offers me the packet. I turn my head and grab a few chips, smiling, and he grabs half a dozen for himself. “Sunday it is.”

I tap out a reminder on my phone to call Briseis later, and bring my paper bag up to my chin so I can eat the rest of my doughnut. Achilles starts talking about his childhood, when his parents were mostly together and travelled around the country. He talks about a time when he and his mother spent the day at Bondi, about visits to the Opera House and how he couldn’t understand the appeal of it. I laugh, and tell him one of the few memories I have left of my mother; of skipping rocks on the surf while she watched, her toes in the sand. I tell him of her piano, and of the wooden horse she gave me. He’s quiet while I talk, and when I tell him of my mother’s passing, he simply says, _‘I’m sorry to hear,’_ and doesn’t try to console me further. It was years ago, I think, and I feel that any fond memories of his own mother are tainted with her coldness. He offers me the last of his Pringles, and I let him take the last bite of my doughnut. It’s not long before he checks his phone for the time, and, realizing his final race is due to start soon, flashes me a quick grin and hurries off.

Odysseus beams when I’ve made my way back to the tent, Achilles’ backpack slung over my shoulder.

“There’s always a trip or two in the cross-country races. There will be volunteers stationed at checkpoints in the race, so you don’t need to go running after everybody. Here,” he says, passing me a walkie-talkie, “this is connected to the others, so if a student’s down, you’ll hear about it. Otherwise, watch the start, then walk across the track to the finish. Kids usually start trickling through the end around the twenty-minute mark.” He smiles at me reassuringly, and turns around to grab a first-aid kit himself. “Shouldn’t be much drama. Not for you, anyway. You’re friends with that Achilles boy, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Hmm. I’m sure he’ll do well. Let’s just hope he doesn’t get injured.” Odysseus winks at me before sauntering off to what looks like a meeting with the race officials, and I pause for a moment to comprehend what he just told me before I dash off towards the starting point. I’m still a while off when the shotgun blows, and I watch as the race starts and kids surge ahead of the pack, already vying for a lead. There’s so many students that I can’t see Achilles, but I know he is somewhere in there, watching, waiting. I have no doubt that he will win, and I get the feeling the officials do too.

It takes around a minute for the first lot of competitors to disappear into the trees. Minutes pass, and the second group of competitors begin to line up for their own heat. I watch as the second shotgun is fired and the younger boys begin to run, and I wait around for the third group to run off too before I jog over to the finishing point on the other half of the track. I’ll watch Achilles finish, and then I will return to watch the rest of the boys and then the start of the girls.

Coach is already there when I reach the end point, and he looks close to biting his nails from nerves. The cross-country is one of the more prestigious events of the day, and the entire track and field team managed to qualify this year, a record for the Kingsdale seniors. I suddenly realize that it’s been quite selfish of me to only have been thinking about Achilles today, as while he has easy wins in many of his races, the other boys I’ve come to know may have not.

“Coach,” I greet, and Coach startles as he turns around.

“Patroclus,” he greets. “Hello. I see you’re working with Odysseus?”

“Sure have. How has the team been faring?”

Coach gives a brilliant smile, the happiest I’ve seen him since I’ve joined. “Well, Achilles has won all of his races, and Kieran and Sean have each done marvellously. Jimmy came second in his hundred, while Matt and Alex came first and second in their two hundred. That’s all the results I can remember now, but they’ve all done marvellously. The girls have been great, too, Kayla won her sprints, as did Nita.”

My face lights up at each name he mentions; I’ve spent mornings and evenings with these boys and it’s incredible to see their dedication finally paying off. “That’s brilliant, Coach.”

“Now all I need is Achilles to win the cross-country,” Coach grumbles, bring a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun as he peers into the trees surrounding the outer track. “That fool better show up soon.”

“He will,” I say. While Coach is obviously on edge, I know that there’s no way for Achilles to lose. He’s too talented, and, more importantly, too prideful for any other result than a sure win.

It’s seven minutes later that a holler amidst the crowd at the finish line turns into a cheer, as the first runner’s spotted in the distance. Despite my confidence, my heart picks up and starts racing as if I was in the event too. What if Achilles was hurt? What if he’d fallen over? Coach starts mumbling curses, and I suck in my breath.

“There’s two of them!” comes another holler from one of the other coaches.

“Jack!” the same coach calls out a second later. “And— _Achilles!”_

Coach swears loudly as the two boys sprint into view. There’s a hundred metre gap between the trees and the finish line, and Achilles’ red uniform and golden hair is a stark contrast to Jack’s baby blue one and his dark brown hair. The crowd erupts into cheers as they approach, and my heart feels like it’s in my throat.

I feel the crackling and the buzz of the walkie-talkie in my hand, but all I can hear is my heartbeat and the cheers of the other coaches and officials. The boys are heel to heel, and they’re now close enough that I can properly recognise the other boy’s uniform. Riverbank High. I can feel my hands shaking, and I ball my free hand into a fist.

“Come _on_ , Achilles,” I mumble.

The boys have crossed a third of the distance to the finish when there’s suddenly a blur of red and blue and they both stumble. There’s a roar of mixed encouragement and protest from the waiting crowd, and my heart leaps.

It’s Achilles that makes it up first, and he’s metres ahead by the time Jack makes it back on his feet. The Riverbank coach is still yelling for him to run faster, try his best, but I take a deep breath of relief. There’s no way Jack can catch up. Coach is beaming from ear to ear when Achilles steps past the finish line, and Achilles lets out a whop of victory, accepting the water bottle one of the officials offer him and taking a swig before letting the water run onto his face. A minute passes before Jack stumbles over the finish line, and Achilles is still beaming when he’s pushed from behind.

Jack’s quickly pulled away by the coaches, but I still flinch at his words. _“You pushed me!”_ he snaps, trying to kick at Achilles. “You fucking _tripped_ me, you cheating bitch!”

Achilles manages to catch himself and quickly puts a few metres between him and Jack, but his happy expression’s twisted into a frown. He opens his mouth as if to shoot something back, but a race official puts a hand on his chest, and Achilles looks up at the man for a moment before scowling and walking back to the stands. I make to go after him, but Coach puts a hand on my arm and shakes his head.

“You have other things to attend to,” he says, motioning to how Jack’s now limping and to the next few runners that have come out from the trees. “He’ll calm down eventually.”

I look from Achilles to the other runners, and then up to Coach. “Fine,” I sigh, and go over to where Jack’s mumbling curses under his breath. “Jack? I’m Patroclus, I’m helping the medics today.”

Jack looks up at me, and I can’t help but notice the cold hazel of his eyes. He looks at me, hesitant, and then down to my Kingsdale uniform, with the green-and-white cross band on my arm. “Your teammate tripped me.”

“Yes,” I agree, and his frown deepens. “I need to take you back to the medical tent, to check you didn’t twist anything.”

Jack rolls his eyes and mumbles an agreement, so I give a thin smile and lead him off to Odysseus. Odysseus gives a smile of acknowledgement when he spots Jack and I, and sits Jack down on a seat.

“The day isn’t over yet,” Odysseus says when he sees my hesitation. “There’s going to be another twenty students who need help. Go fetch them for me, or help them up.”

I don’t need to be told twice. The cross-country races take another two hours to complete, and by the time it’s over I’ve just about ran the length myself, having ran to and from every which point in the race to look after students. Odysseus is beaming by the end of it, having sent off the last of the kids, but it does nothing to brighten my mood. I call Achilles the second after I turn from the medical tent, but the call gets rejected after the fourth ring. Scowling, I walk back to the Kingsdale stands, only to find him gone. Coach mentions that Achilles had asked for his mother to pick him up from the Racecourse carpark instead of back at Kingsdale, and I groan and dash off to the carpark. Schools are still packing up their things in the grandstands, so it’s shockingly easy to find the teenage boy that I’m looking for.

“Achilles!” I holler, and he startles, turning around to face me as I jog the distance between us. His backpack is slung over one shoulder, and his hair is still tied up with his leather band.

“Done fussing over Jack?” Achilles says coldly.

I look at Achilles for a few moments, assessing how pissed he is. I look at the firm set of his jaw, the hard look in his eye. I know I’ve done nothing wrong, but I still know I blew him off. “I’m sorry,” I mumble, but he doesn’t shift his gaze. There’s an intensity to it that I can’t name – hurt, perhaps – and it makes my throat dry and my palms sweaty.

“Patroclus,” Achilles says softly, and I lean forward and kiss him.

His lips are as gentle as I’ve imagined them to be, warm and firm and wet against my own. I feel his mouth shift, his lips parting, and I can taste his mouth – hot and sweet from an overload of sugary drinks. A familiar warmth hits my stomach, strong enough to make my hands and stomach and legs tremble. _More,_ my mind whispers, and I gasp as I flinch away from him, my skin burning with an intensity I wouldn’t’ve thought possible.

I have a moment to see him frozen, his eyes wide with surprise and his mouth still half-forming a kiss, before my horror sets in. This is it, I realize. The moment of truth. But I do not get it. Achilles takes a step back, and that is when I see Thetis, sitting in her half a million dollar car, starting at us both. He looks me dead in the eye, his expression utterly unreadable, and then slowly turns and walks the few metres to Thetis’s car. She opens the door for him, and doesn’t wait for him to click in his seatbelt before speeding off.

I thought I was shaky before, but now I am unable to stand. Sinking to my knees, there’s only one thought I can hold on to.

_Dear gods, what have I done?_


End file.
